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Leerie 


BOOKS  BY 
RUTH    SAWYER 

LEERIE 

DOCTOR   DANNY 

HERSELF,  HIMSELF,  AND   MYSELF 

THE    PRIMROSE    RING 

SEVEN    MILES   TO   ARDEN 

THIS    WAY    TO    CHRISTMAS 

A  CHILD'S  YEAR-BOOK  OF   VERSE 


HARPER  &  BROTHERS,  NEW  YORK 
[ESTABLISHED  1817] 


Leerie 


LEERIE 


By  RUTH  SAWYER 

Author  oj 

"DOCTOR  DANNY"  '  'THIS  WAY  TO  CHRISTMAS" 
"SEVEN  MILES  TO  ARDEN"  ETC. 


With  Illustrations  by 
CLINTON  BALMER 


"And  0!  before  you  hurry  by 
With  ladder  and  with  light, 
O  Lffrie,  see  a  little  child 
And  nod  to  him  to-night!" 


Harper  &.  Brothers  Publishers 
New  York  and  London 


LEERIE 

Copyright  1930,  by  Harper  &  Brothers 

Printed  in  the  United  Statca  of  America 

Published  April,  {990 


To 

Lamplighters — the  world  over 


CONTENTS 

Chap.  Page 

Foreword ix 

I.  The  Man  Who  Feared  Sleep 3 

II.  Old  King  Cole 40 

III.  The  Changeling 77 

IV.  For  the  Honor  of  the  San 116 

V.  The  Last  of  the  Surgical 155 

VI.  Monsieur  Satan 191 

VII.  The  Lad  Who  Outsang  the  Stars 232 

VIII.  Into  Her  Own 269 

Afterword 306 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

Leerie Frontispiece 

Holding  him  high  for  Peter  to  admire  ^  .  .  .  Facing  p.  100 
"The  first  look  I  had  told  me  she  had  gone  quite  mad"  "  216 
"  He  will  require  more  care,  better  dressing  "  .  .  "  302 


2138154   1 


Foreword 

I  LIKE  to  write  stories.  Best  of  all  I  like 
to  write  stories  about  people  who  help  the 
world  to  go  round  with  a  little  more  cheer 
and  good  will  than  is  usual.  You  know — and 
I  know — there  are  a  few  who  put  into  life 
something  more  than  the  bare  ingredients. 
They  add  a  plum  here — extra  spice  there. 
They  bake  it  well — and  then  they  trim  it  up 
like  an  all-the-year-round  birthday  cake  with 
white  frosting,  angelica,  and  red  cherries. 
Last  of  all  they  add  the  candles  and  light 
them  so  that  it  glows  warmly  and  invitingly 
for  all ;  fine  to  see,  sweet  to  taste. 

Of  course,  there  are  not  so  many  people 
with  the  art  or  the  will  to  do  this,  and,  having 
done  it,  they  have  not  always  the  bigness  of 
heart  to  pass  it  round  for  the  others  to  share. 
But  I  like  to  make  it  my  business  to  find  as 
many  as  I  can ;  and  when  I  am  lucky  enough 
to  find  one  I  pop  him — or  her — into  a  book, 
to  have  and  to  hold  always  as  long  as  books 
last  and  memory  keeps  green. 


FOREWORD 


Not  long  ago  I  was  ill — ridiculously  ill — 
and  my  doctor  popped  me  into  a  sanitarium. 
"Here's  the  place,"  I  said,  "where  people 
are  needed  to  make  the  world  go  round  cheer 
fully,  if  they  are  needed  anywhere."  And  so 
I  set  about  to  get  well  and  find  one. 

She  came — before  I  had  half  finished. 
The  first  thing  I  noticed  was  the  inner  light 
in  her — a  light  as  from  many  candles.  It 
shone  all  over  her  face  and  made  the  room 
brighter  for  a  long  time  after  she  had  left. 
The  next  thing  I  noticed  was  the  way  every 
body  watched  for  her  to  come  round — 
everybody  turning  child  again  with  nose 
pressed  hard  against  the  window-pane.  It 
made  me  remember  Stevenson's  Lamp 
lighter;  and  for  many  days  there  rang  in  my 
ears  one  of  his  bits  of  human  understanding : 

And  oh!  before  you  hurry  by  with  ladder  and  with 

light, 
O  Leerie,  see  a  little  child  and  nod  to  him  to-night. 

Before  I  knew  it  I  had  all  the  makings  of  a 
story.  I  trailed  it  through  the  mud  of  gos 
sip  and  scandal ;  I  followed  it  to  the  highroad 
of  adventure  and  on  to  the  hills  of  inspiration 
and  sacrifice.  It  was  all  there — ripe  for  the 
plucking;  and  with  the  good  assistance  of 


FOREWORD 

Hennessy  I  plucked  it.  Before  the  story 
was  half  written  I  was  well — so  much  for  the 
healing  grace  of  a  story  and  the  right  person 
to  put  in  it. 

This  much  I  have  told  that  you  may  know 
that  Leerie  is  as  true  as  all  the  best  and  finest 
things  in  the  world  are  true.  I  am  only  the 
passer-on  of  life  as  she  has  made  it — spiced, 
trimmed,  and  lighted  with  many  candles. 
So  if  the  taste  pleases,  help  yourself  bounti 
fully;  there  is  enough  for  all.  And  if  you 
must  thank  any  one — thank  Leerie. 

RUTH  SAWYER. 


LEERIE 

Chapter   I 

THE   MAN   WHO   FEARED   SLEEP 

PETER  BROOKS  felt  himself  for  a  man 
given  up.  He  had  felt  his  physical  unfit- 
ness  for  some  time  in  the  silent,  condemning 
judgment  masked  under  the  too  sympathetic 
gaze  of  his  fellow-men ;  he  had  felt  it  in  the 
over-solicitous  inquiries  after  his  health  made 
by  the  staff;  and  there  was  his  chief,  who  had 
fallen  into  the  comfortable  week-end  habit 
of  telling  him  he  looked  first-rate,  and  in 
the  same  breath  begging  him  to  take  the 
next  week  off.  For  months  past  he  had  been 
conscious  of  the  sidelong  glances  cast  by 
his  brother  alumni  at  the  College  Club  when 
he  appeared,  and  the  way  they  had  of  drop 
ping  into  a  contradictory  lot  of  topics  when 
ever  he  joined  a  group  unexpectedly  showed 

3 


LEERIE 

only  too  plainly  that  he  had  been  the  real 
subject  under  discussion.  Yes,  he  felt  that 
the  world  at  large  had  turned  its  thumb  down 
as  far  as  he  was  concerned,  but  it  had 
caused  him  surprisingly  little  worry  until 
that  last  visit  to  Doctor  Dempsy. 

There  it  was  as  if  Peter's  sensibilities  con 
cerning  himself  had  suddenly  become  acute. 
The  doctor  sounded  too  reassuring  even  for 
a  combined  friend  and  physician;  he  pro 
tested  too  much  that  he  had  found  nothing 
at  all  the  matter  with  him — nothing  at  all. 
When  a  doctor  seems  so  superlatively  anx 
ious  to  set  a  man  right  with  himself,  it  is 
time  to  look  out;  therefore  the  casual,  just- 
happened-to-mention-it  way  that  he  finally 
broached  the  question  of  a  sanitarium  came 
within  an  inch  of  knocking  the  last  prop 
from  under  Peter's  resolve  not  to  lose  his 
grip.  For  the  first  time  he  fully  realized 
how  it  felt  to  be  given  up,  and,  character 
istically,  he  thanked  the  Almighty  that  there 
was  no  one  to  whom  it  would  really  matter. 

For  a  year  he  had  been  slowly  going  to 
pieces;  for  a  year  he  had  been  dropping 
in  for  Dempsy  to  patch  him  up.  There 
had  been  a  host  of  miserable  puny  ailments 


THE   MAN   WHO   FEARED  SLEEP 

which  in  themselves  meant  nothing,  but 
combined  and  in  a  young  man  meant  a 
great  deal.  Of  late  his  memory  had  failed 
him  outrageously;  he  had  had  frequent  at 
tacks  of  vertigo,  and  these  of  themselves 
had  rendered  him  unreliable  and  unfit  for 
newspaper  work.  Irresponsible!  Unfit!  Peter 
snorted  the  words  out  honestly  to  himself. 
Under  these  conditions,  and  with  no  one  to 
care,  he  could  see  no  plausible  reason  for 
trying  to  coax  a  mere  existence  out  of  life. 

To  those  who  knew  him  best — to  Doctor 
Dempsy  most  of  all — his  condition  seemed 
unexplainable.  Here  was  a  man  who  never 
drank,  who  never  overfed,  who  smoked  in 
moderation,  whose  life  stood  out  conspicu 
ously  decent  and  clean  against  the  possibili 
ties  of  his  environment.  What  lay  back  of 
this  going  to  pieces?  Doctor  Dempsy  had 
tried  for  a  year  to  find  out  and  had  failed. 
To  Peter,  it  was  not  unexplainable  at  all — 
he  knew.  Possessed  of  a  constitution  above 
the  average,  he  had  forced  it  to  do  the  work 
of  a  mind  far  above  the  average,  while  he 
had  denied  it  one  of  the  three  necessities  of 
life  and  sanity.  His  will  and  reason  had  been 
powerless  to  help  him — and  now? 


LEERIE 

Because  he  had  hated  himself  for  hiding 
this  knowledge  from  the  man  who  had  tried 
to  do  so  much  for  him  and  wanted  to  make 
amends  in  some  way — and  because  it  was 
the  easiest  thing,  after  all,  to  agree — he  let 
Doctor  Dempsy  pick  out  a  sanitarium,  make 
all  arrangements,  buy  his  ticket,  and  see  him 
off.  He  drew  the  line  at  being  personally 
conducted,  however.  Whether  he  went  to  a 
sanitarium  or  not  did  not  matter ;  what  mat 
tered  was  how  long  would  he  stay  and  where 
would  he  go  afterward.  Or  would  there  be 
an  afterward?  These  were  the  questions 
that  mulled  through  Peter's  mind  on  the 
train,  and,  coupled  with  the  memory  of  the 
worried  kindliness  on  Doctor  Dempsy's  face, 
they  were  the  only  traveling  companions 
Peter  had.  It  was  not  to  be  wondered, 
therefore,  that  as  he  left  the  car  and 
boarded  the  sanitarium  omnibus  he  felt 
indescribably  old,  weary,  and  finished  with 
things. 

At  first  he  thought  he  was  the  only  pas 
senger,  but  as  the  driver  leisurely  gathered 
up  his  reins  and  gave  a  cluck  to  the  horses 
a  girl's  voice  rang  out  from  the  station, 
"Flanders — Flanders !  Why,  I  believe  you're 

6 


THE   MAN   WHO   FEARED   SLEEP 

forgetting  me."  And  the  next  instant  the 
girl  herself  appeared,  suitcase  in  hand. 

The  driver  grinned  down  a  sheepish  apol 
ogy  and  Peter  turned  to  hold  the  door  open. 
She  stood  framed  in  the  doorway  for  a  mo 
ment  while  she  lifted  in  her  case,  and  for 
that  moment  Peter  had  conflicting  impres 
sions.  He  was  conscious  of  a  modest,  nun- 
like  appearance  of  clothes ;  the  traveling-suit 
was  gray,  and  the  small  gray  hat  had  an 
encircling  breast  of  white  feathers.  The  lips 
had  a  quiet,  demure  curve;  but  the  chin  was 
determined,  almost  aggressive,  while  the 
gray  eyes  positively  emitted  sparks.  The 
girl  was  not  beautiful,  she  was  luminous — 
and  all  the  gray  clothing  in  the  world  could 
not  quench  her.  Peter  found  himself  in 
stantly  wondering  how  anything  so  vitally 
alive  and  fresh  to  look  at  could  be  headed 
for  a  sanitarium  with  broken-down  hulks 
like  himself. 

She  caught  Peter's  eye  upon  her  and 
smiled.  "If  Flanders  will  hurry  we'll  be 
there  in  time  to  see  Hennessy  feeding  the 
swans,"  she  announced. 

There  was  no  response.  Peter  had  sud 
denly  lost  the  knack  of  it,  along  with  other 


LEERIE 

things.  He  could  only  look  bewildered  and 
a  trifle  more  tired.  But  the  girl  must  have 
understood  it  was  only  a  temporary  lack, 
for  she  did  not  draw  in  like  a  snail  and  dis 
miss  Peter  from  her  conscious  horizon.  She 
smiled  again. 

"I  see.  Newcomer?"  And,  nodding  an 
affirmative  to  herself,  she  went  sociably  on: 
"Hennessy  and  the  swans  are  symbolical. 
Couldn't  tell  you  why — not  in  a  thousand 
years — but  you'll  feel  it  for  yourself  after 
you've  been  here  long  enough.  Hennessy 
hasn't  changed  in  fifteen  years — maybe  long 
er  for  those  who  can  reckon  longer.  Same 
old  blue  jumper,  same  old  tawny  corduroys ; 
if  he  ever  had  a  new  pair  he's  kept  them  to 
himself.  And  the  swans  have  changed  less 
than  Hennessy.  If  anything  gets  on  your 
nerves  here — treatment,  doctors,  nurses,  any 
thing — go  and  watch  Hennessy.  He's  the 
one  sure,  universal  cure." 

The  bus  swung  round  the  corner  and 
brought  the  ivy-covered  building  into  sight. 
The  girl's  face  grew  lighter  and  lighter;  in  the 
shadow  of  the  bus  it  seemed  to  Peter  actually 
to  shine.  "Dear  old  San,"  she  said  under  her 
breath.  "Heieh-ho!  it's  good  to  get  back!" 


THE   MAN   WHO   FEARED   SLEEP 

Before  Peter  could  fathom  any  reason 
for  this  unaccountable  rejoicing,  the  bus 
had  stopped  and  the  girl  and  suitcase  had 
vanished.  Wearily  he  came  back  to  his  own 
reason  for  being  there,  and  docilely  he  al 
lowed  the  porter  to  shoulder  his  luggage  and 
conduct  him  within. 

Three  days  passed — three  days  in  which 
Peter  thought  little  and  felt  much.  He  had 
been  passed  about  among  the  staff  of  doctors 
very  much  like  a  delectable  dish,  and  sampled 
by  all.  Half  a  dozen  had  taken  him  in 
hand.  He  had  been  apportioned  a  treat 
ment,  a  diet,  a  bath  hour,  and  a  nurse. 
Looking  back  on  those  three  days — and  look 
ing  forward  to  a  continuous  protraction  of 
the  same — he  could  see  less  reason  than  ever 
for  coaxing  an  existence  out  of  life.  Life 
meant  to  him  work — efficient,  telling  work— 
and  companionship — sharing  with  a  con 
genial  soul  recreation,  opinions,  and  meals — 
and  some  day,  love.  Well — what  of  these 
was  left  him?  It  was  then  that  he  remem 
bered  the  gray  girl's  advice  in  the  omnibus 
and  went  out  to  find  Hennessy  and  the 
swans. 

His  nurse  was  at  supper,  so  he  was  merci- 

9 


LEERIE 

fully  free ;  moreover  it  was  the  emptiest  time 
of  day  for  out-of-doors.  A  few  straggling 
patients  were  knocking  prescribed  golf-balls 
about  the  links,  and  a  scattering  of  nurses 
were  hurrying  in  with  their  wheel-chairs. 
Half-way  between  the  links  and  the  last  build 
ing  was  the  pond,  shaded  by  pines  and 
flanked  by  a  miniature  rustic  rest-house,  and 
thither  Peter  went.  On  a  willow  stump 
emerging  from  the  pond  he  found  Hennessy, 
as  wrinkled  as  a  butternut,  with  a  thatch  of 
gray  hair,  a  mouth  shirred  into  a  small,  open 
ellipse,  and  eyes  full  of  irrepressible  twinkles. 
He  was  seated  tailor  fashion  on  the  stump, 
a  tin  platter  of  bread  across  his  knees  and  the 
swans  circling  about  him.  He  looked  every 
whit  as  Irish  as  his  name,  and  he  was  scolding 
and  blarneying  the  birds  by  turn. 

" Go-wan,  there,  ye  feathered  heathen! 
Can't  ye  be  lettin'  them  that  has  good  man 
ners  get  a  morsel  once  in  a  while?  Faith, 
ye'll  be  havin'  old  Doc  Willum  afther  ye 
with  his  stomach  cure  if  ye  don't  watch  out." 
He  looked  over  his  shoulder  and  caught 
Peter's  gaze.  "Sure,  birds  or  humans,  they 
all  have  to  be  coaxed  or  scolded  into  keepin' 

healthy,  I'm  thinkin',  and  Hennessy 's  head 

10 


THE   MAN   WHO   FEARED   SLEEP 

nurse  to  the  swans,"  he  ended,  with  a 
chuckle. 

But  there  was  something  quite  different  on 
Peter's  mind.  "Has  one  of  the  patients — a 
young  person  in  gray — been  here  lately?  I 
mean  have  you  seen  her  about  any  time?" 

Hennessy  shook  a  puzzled  head.  "A 
young  gray  patient,  ye  say?  Sure  there 
might  be  a  hundred — that's  not  over-dis- 
tinguishin'.  I  leave  it  to  ye,  sir,  just  a  gray 
patient  is  not  over-distinguishin'." 

Peter  reflected.  "It  was  a  quiet,  cloister 
kind  of  gray,  but  her  eyes  were  not — clois 
tered.  They  were  the  shiningest — " 

A  chuckle  from  Hennessy  brought  him  to 
an  abrupt  finish.  "Eyes?  Gray?  Patient? 
Ha,  ha!  Did  ye  hear  that,  Brian  Boru?" 
and  he  flicked  his  cap  at  a  gray  swan. 
"Sure,  misther,  that's  no  patient.  'Tis 
Leerie — herself. ' ' 

"Leerie?"  The  name  sounded  absurd  to 
Peter,  and  slightly  reminiscent  of  something, 
he  could  not  tell  what. 

"Aye,  Leerie.  Real  name,  Sheila  O'Leary 
— as  good  a  name  as  Hennessy.  But  they 
named  her  Leerie  her  probation  year.  In 

course    she's    Irish    an'    not   Scotch,    an'    I 

11 


LEERIE 

never  heard  tell  of  a  lass  afore  that  went 
'round  a-lightin'  street  lamps,  but  for  all  that 
the  name  fits.  Ye  mind  grown-ups  an'  chil- 
dher  alike  watch  for  her  to  come  'round." 

"A  nurse,"  repeated  Peter,  dully. 

"Aye.  An'  she  come  back  three  days 
since,  Heaven  be  praised!  afther  bein'  gone 
three  years." 

"Three  years,"  repeated  Peter  again. 
"Why  was  she  gone  three  years?" 

Hennessy  eyed  him  narrowly  for  a  mo 
ment.  "A  lot  of  blitherin'  fools  sent  her 
away,  that's  what,  an'  she  not  much  more 
than  graduated.  Suspension,  they  called  it." 

"Suspension  for  what?" 

The  shirring  in  Hennessy's  lips  tightened, 
and  he  drew  his  breath  in  and  out  in  a  sort 
of  asthmatic  whistle.  This  was  the  only  sign 
of  emotion  ever  betrayed  by  Hennessy. 
When  he  spoke  again  he  fairly  whistled  his 
words.  "If  ye  want  to  know  what  for — ye 
can  ask  some  one  else.  Good  night."  And 
with  a  bang  to  the  platter  Hennessy  was  away 
before  Peter  could  stop  him. 

Alone  with  the  swans,  Peter  lingered  a 
moment  to  consider.  A  nurse.  The  gray 
person  a  nurse!  And  sent  away  for  some — 

12 


THE   MAN   WHO   FEARED   SLEEP 

some—  Peter's  mind  groped  inadequately 
for  a  reason.  Pshaw!  He  could  smile  at 
the  absurdity  of  his  interest.  What  did  it 
matter — or  she  matter — or  anything  matter? 
For  a  man  who  has  been  given  up,  who  has 
been  sent  away  to  a  sanitarium  to  finish  with 
life  as  speedily  and  decently  as  he  can,  to 
stand  on  one  leg  by  a  pond,  for  all  the  world 
like  a  swan  himself,  and  wonder  about  a  girl 
he  had  seen  but  once,  in  a  sanitarium  omni 
bus,  was  absurd.  And  the  name  Leerie? 
Of  course  they  had  taken  it  from  Stevenson, 
but  it  suited.  Yes,  Hennessy  was  right,  it 
certainly  suited. 

A  rustle  of  white  skirts  coming  down  the 
path  attracted  his  attention.  It  was  his 
nurse,  through  supper,  coming  like  a  com 
mandant  to  take  him  in  charge.  Thirty- 
seven,  in  a  sanitarium,  with  a  nurse  at 
tendant!  Peter  groaned  inwardly.  It  was 
monstrous,  a  cowardly,  blackguard  attack  of 
an  unthinking  Creator  on  a  human  being — a 
decent  human  being — who  might  be — who 
wanted  to  be — of  some  use  in  the  world. 
For  a  breath  he  wanted  to  roar  forth  blas 
phemy  after  blasphemy  against  the  universe 
and  its  Maker,  but  in  the  next  breath  he 

13 


LEERIE 

suddenly  realized  how  little  he  cared.  With 
a  smile  almost  tragically  senile,  he  let  the 
nurse  lead  him  away. 

And  all  the  while  a  girl  was  leaning  over  the 
sill  of  the  little  rest-house,  watching  him.  It 
was  a  girl  with  a  demure  mouth,  a  deter 
mined  chin,  and  eyes  that  shone,  who  an 
swered  impartially  to  the  names  of  Sheila, 
Miss  O'Leary,  or  Leerie.  The  gray  was 
changed  for  the  white  uniform  and  cap  of  a 
graduate  nurse,  and  the  change  was  becom 
ing.  She  had  recognized  him  at  first  with 
casual  amusement  as  she  watched  him  fill  her 
prescription  of  Hennessy  and  the  swans,  but 
after  Hennessy  had  gone  she  watched  him 
with  all  the  intuitive  sympathy  of  her 
womanhood  and  the  understanding  of  her 
profession.  Not  one  of  the  emotions  that 
swept  Peter's  face  but  registered  full  on  the 
girl's  sensibilities:  the  illuminating  interest 
in  something,  bewilderment,  hopelessness, 
despair,  agony,  and  a  final  weary  surrender  to 
the  inevitable — they  were  all  there.  But  it 
was  the  strange,  haunting  look  in  the  deep- 
set  eyes  that  made  the  girl  sit  up,  alert  and 
curious. 

'"Phobia,"    she    said,    softly,    under    her 

14 


THE   MAN   WHO   FEARED   SLEEP 

breath.  "Not  over -fed  liver  or  alcoholic 
heart,  but  'phobia,  I'll  wager,  poor  childman! 
Wonder  how  the  doctors  have  diagnosed 
him!" 

She  learned  how  a  few  days  later  when 
Miss  Maxwell,  the  superintendent  of  nurses, 
stopped  her  in  the  second-floor  corridor. 
"My  dear,  I  should  like  to  change  you  from 
Madam  Courot  to  another  case  for  a  few 
days.  Miss  Jacobs  is  on  now  and — " 

"Coppy?"  Sheila  O'Leary  broke  in 
abruptly,  a  smile  of  amusement  breaking  the 
demureness  of  her  lips.  "Needn't  explain, 
Miss  Max.  I  see.  Young  male  patient, 
unattached.  Frequent  pulse-takings  and  cer 
ebral  massage,  with  late  evening  strolls  in 
the  pine  woods.  Business  office  takes  notice 
and  a  change  of  nurse  recommended.  Poor 
Coppy — ripping  nurse !  If  only  she  wouldn't 
grow  flabby  every  time  a  pair  of  masculine 
eyes  are  focused  her  way!" 

"But  it  wasn't  the  business  office  this 
time."  Miss  Maxwell  herself  smiled  as  she 
made  the  statement.  "It  was  the  patient 
himself.  He  asked  for  a  change." 

"A  man  that's  a  man  for  all  he's  a  patient. 
God  bless  his  soul!"  and  a  look  of  sudden 

15 


LEERIE 

radiant  delight  swept  the  girl's  face.  "  What's 
he  here  for?  Jilting  chorus-girl — fatty  de 
generation  of  his  check-book?" 

The  superintendent  shook  her  head.  "He 
doesn't  happen  to  be  that  kind.  He's  a 
newspaper-man — a  personal  friend  of  Doctor 
Dempsy's.  Overwork,  he  thinks,  and  for  a 
year  he's  been  trying  to  put  him  back  on  his 
feet.  It's  a  case  of  nerves,  with  nothing  dis 
coverable  back  of  it  so  far  as  he  can  see,  but 
he  wants  us  to  try.  Doctor  Nichols  has  ana 
lyzed  him;  teeth  have  been  X-rayed;  eyes, 
nose,  and  throat  gone  over.  There's  nothing 
radically  wrong  with  stomach  or  kidneys; 
heart  shows  nervous  affection,  nothing  more. 
He  ought  to  be  fit  physically  and  he  isn't. 
Miss  Jacobs  reports  a  maximum  of  an  hour's 
sleep  in  twenty-four.  Doctor  Dempsy  writes 
it's  a  case  for  a  nurse,  not  a  doctor,  and  the 
most  tactful,  intuitive  nurse  we  have  in  the 
sanitarium.  Please  take  it,  Leerie." 

The  girl  stiffened  under  the  two  hands 
placed  on  her  shoulders,  while  something  in 
describably  baffling  and  impenetrable  took 
possession  of  her  whole  being.  Her  voice 
became  almost  curt.  "Sorry,  can't.  Bar 
gain,  you  know.  Wouldn't  have  come  back 


THE   MAN   WHO   FEARED   SLEEP 

at  all  if  you  hadn't  promised  I  should  not  be 
asked  to  take  those  cases." 

"I'll  not  ask  you  to  take  another,  but  you 
know  how  I  feel  about  any  patient  Doctor 
Dempsy  sends  to  us.  Anything  I  can  do 
means  paying  back  a  little  on  the  great  debt 
I  owe  him,  the  debt  of  a  wonderful  training. 
That's  why  I  ask — this  once."  A  look  al 
most  fanatical  came  into  the  face  of  the 
superintendent. 

The  girl  smiled  wistfully  up  at  her. 
"Wish  I  could!  Honest  I  do,  Miss  Max! 
I'd  fight  for  the  life  of  any  patient  under  the 
old  San  roof — man,  woman,  or  child;  but 
I'll  not  baby-tend  unhealthy-minded  young 
men.  You  know  as  well  as  I  how  it's  always 
been :  they  lose  their  heads  and  I  my  temper 
—results,  the  same.  I  end  by  telling  them 
just  what  I  think;  they  pay  their  bills  and 
leave  the  same  day.  The  San  loses  a  per 
fectly  good  annual  patient,  and  the  business 
office  feels  sore  at  me.  No,  I'm  no  good  at 
frequent  pulses  and  cerebral  massage;  leave 
that  to  Coppy." 

There  was  no  stinging  sarcasm  in  the  girl's 
voice.  She  reached  out  an  impulsive  hand 
and  slipped  it  into  one  of  the  older  woman's, 

17 


LEERIE 

leaving  it  there  long  enough  to  give  it  a 
quick,  firm  grip.  "Remember,  it's  only 
three  years — and  it  takes  so  little  to  set 
tongues  wagging  again.  So  let's  stick  fast  to 
the  bargain,  dear;  only  nervous  old  ladies  or 
the  bad  surgical  cases." 

"Very  well.  Only — if  you  could  change 
your  mind,  let  me  know.  In  the  mean  time 
I'll  put  Miss  Saunders  on,"  and  the  su 
perintendent  turned  away,  troubled  and 
unsatisfied. 

An  hour  later  Sheila  O'Leary  came  upon 
Miss  Saunders  with  her  new  patient,  and  the 
patient  was  the  man  of  the  omnibus — the 
man  with  the  haunting,  deep-set  eyes.  Un 
noticed,  she  watched  them  sitting  on  a  bench 
by  the  pond,  the  nurse  droning  aloud  from  a 
book,  the  man  sagging  listlessly,  plainly  hear 
ing  nothing  and  seeing  nothing.  The  picture 
set  Sheila  O'Leary  shuddering.  If  it  was  a 
case  of  'phobia,  God  help  the  poor  man 
with  Saunders  coupled  to  his  nerves!  Cum 
bersome,  big-hearted,  and  hopelessly  dull, 
Saunders  was  incapable  of  nursing  with  tact 
ful  insight  a  nerve  -  racked  man.  In  the 
whole  wide  realm  of  disease  there  seemed 
nothing  more  tragic  to  Sheila  than  a  victim 

18 


THE   MAN   WHO   FEARED   SLEEP 

of  'phobia.  It  turned  normal  men  and  women 
into  pitiful  children,  afraid  of  the  dark,  grop 
ing  out  for  the  hand  to  reassure  them,  to  put 
heart  and  courage  back  in  them  again — the 
hand  that  nine  cases  out  of  ten  never  reaches 
them  in  time. 

With  an  impulsive  toss  of  her  head,  Sheila 
O'Leary  swung  about  in  her  tracks.  She 
would  break  her  own  bargain  for  this  once. 
She  would  go  to  Miss  Max  and  ask  to  be  put 
on  the  case.  Here  was  a  soul  sick  unto  death 
with  a  fear  of  something,  and  Saunders  was 
nursing  it!  What  did  it  matter  if  it  was  a 
man  or  a  dog,  as  long  as  she  could  get  into  the 
dark  after  him  and  show  him  the  way  out! 
Her  resolve  held  to  the  point  of  branching 
paths,  and  there  she  stopped  to  consider 
again. 

Peter's  eyes  were  on  the  swans;  there  was 
nothing  to  the  general  droop  of  the  shoulders, 
the  thrust-forward  bend  of  the  neck,  the  hol 
lowing  of  the  smooth-shaven  cheeks,  and  the 
graying  of  the  hair  above  the  temples  to  write 
him  other  than  an  average  overworked  or 
habitually  harassed  business  man  here  for 
rest  and  treatment.  If  Sheila  was  mistaken 
— if  there  was  no  abnormal  mental  condition 

19 


LEERIE 

back  of  it  all,  no  legitimate  reason  for  not 
holding  fast  to  the  compact  she  had  made 
three  years  before  with  herself  to  leave  men 
— young,  old,  or  middle-aged — out  of  her 
profession,  what  a  fool  she  would  feel!  She 
balanced  the  paths  and  her  judgment  for  a 
second,  then  decided  in  favor  of  the  bargain. 
So  Peter  was  left  to  the  ministrations  of 
Saunders. 

That  night  the  unexpected  happened,  un 
expected  as  far  as  the  sanitarium,  the  superin 
tendent  of  nurses,  and  Sheila  O'Leary  were 
concerned.  How  unexpected  it  was  to  Peter 
depends  largely  on  whether  it  was  the  re 
sult  of  a  decision  on  his  part  to  stop  coaxing 
existence — or  a  desire  to  escape  permanently 
from  Saunders — or  merely  an  accident.  How 
ever,  Sheila  O'Leary  was  called  in  the  middle 
of  the  night,  when  she  was  sleeping  so  soundly 
that  it  took  the  combined  efforts  of  the  su 
perintendent  and  the  head  night  nurse  to 
shake  her  awake.  As  she  hurried  into  her 
uniform  they  gave  her  the  bare  details. 
Somehow  the  doors  of  the  sun-parlor  had  not 
been  fastened  as  usual,  and  a  patient  had 
stayed  up  there  after  lights  were  out.  He 

had  tried  to  find  his  way  to  the  lift,  had 

20 


THE   MAN    WHO   FEARED   SLEEP 

slipped  the  fastenings  of  the  door  in  his  effort 
to  locate  the  bell,  and  had  fallen  four  stories, 
to  the  top  of  the  lift  itself.  The  whole  ac 
cident  was  unbelievable,  unprecedented. 
They  might  find  some  plausible  explanation 
in  the  morning — but  in  the  mean  time  the 
patient  was  in  the  operating  -  room  and 
Sheila  O'Leary  was  to  report  at  once  for 
night  duty. 

As  the  girl  pinned  on  her  cap  the  superin 
tendent  whispered  the  last  instructions: 
"You'll  find  him  in  Number  Three,  Surgical. 
It's  one  of  your  fighting  cases,  Leerie,  and 
it's  Doctor  Dempsy's  patient.  Remember, 
your  best  work  this  time,  girl,  for  all  our 
sakes!" 

And  it  was  a  fighting  case.  Innumerable 
nights  followed,  all  alike.  The  temperature 
rose  and  fell  a  little,  only  to  rise  again;  the 
pulse  strengthened  and  weakened  by  turns; 
delirium  continued  unbroken.  As  night  after 
night  wore  on  and  no  fresh  sign  of  internal  in 
jury  developed,  the  girl  found  herself  forgetting 
the  immediate  condition  of  the  patient  and 
going  back  to  the  thing  that  had  brought  him 
here.  If  she  was  right  and  he  was  possessed 

by  a  fixed  idea,  the  dread  of  some  concrete 

21 


LEERIE 

thing  or  experience,  his  delirium  showed  no 
evidence.  It  seemed  more  the  delirium  of 
exhaustion  than  fever,  and  there  was  no  rav 
ing.  Consciousness,  however,  might  reveal 
what  delirium  hid,  so,  as  the  nights  slipped 
monotonously  by,  the  girl  found  herself  wait 
ing  with  a  growing  eagerness  for  the  man  to 
come  back  to  himself. 

The  waiting  seemed  interminable,  but  a 
time  came  at  last  when  Sheila  slipped  through 
the  door  of  No.  3  and  found  a  pair  of  deep- 
set,  haunting  eyes  turned  full  upon  her. 

"  It's — it's  Leerie."  The  words  came  with 
some  difficulty,  but  there  was  an  untold  relief 
in  Peter's  voice. 

For  a  moment  the  girl  was  taken  aback, 
but  only  for  a  moment.  She  laughed  him  a 
friendly  little  laugh  while  she. put  her  hand 
down  to  the  hand  that  was  still  too  weak  to 
reach  out  in  greeting.  "Yes.  Oh  yes,  it's 
Leerie.  Been  getting  pretty  well  acquainted 
with  you  these  weeks,  but  rather  a  surprise  to 
find  it  so — so  mutual." 

"I  got  acquainted  with  you — beforehand," 
announced  Peter. 

"I    see  —  omnibus,    Hennessy,    and    the 

swans."     She  laughed  again  softly.    "You've 

22 


THE   MAN   WHO   FEARED   SLEEP 

been  away  a  long  time;  hope  you're  glad  to 
get  back." 

Peter  reflected.  "I'm  afraid  I'm  not. 
But  I'll  not  say  it  if  it  sounds  too  much  like 
a  quitter." 

"No,  say  it  and  get  it  out  of  your  system. 
Getting  well  always  seems  a  terrible  under 
taking;  and  the  stronger  you've  been  the 
harder  it  seems."  Sheila  turned  to  her  chart 
and  preparations  for  the  night. 

Lights  out,  she  sat  down  by  the  open  win 
dow  to  wait  for  Peter  to  sleep.  An  hour 
passed,  two  hours,  and  sleep  did  not  come. 
She  fed  him  hot  milk  and  he  still  lay  open- 
eyed,  almost  rigid,  staring  straight  at  the 
ceiling.  At  midnight  she  stole  out  for  her 
own  supper  in  the  diet-kitchen  and  found  him 
still  awake  when  she  returned,  the  haunting 
eyes  looking  more  child's  than  man's  in  the 
dimness  of  the  night  lamp.  Had  she  been 
free  to  follow  her  most  vagrant  impulse, 
she  would  have  climbed  on  the  head  of  the 
bed,  taken  the  bandaged  head  on  her  lap,  and 
plunged  into  the  most  enthralling  tale  of  boy 
adventure  her  imagination  could  compass. 
But  she  hounded  off  the  impulse,  after  the 
fashion  of  treating  all  vagrants,  and  went 

3  23 


LEERIE 

back  to  the  window  to  wait  and  wonder. 
Peter  was  still  awake  when  the  gray  of  the 
morning  crept  down  the  corridors  of  the 
Surgical. 

Sheila  questioned  Tyler,  the  day  nurse,  as 
she  came  off  duty  the  next  evening,  "Num 
ber  Three  sleep  any  to  boast  of?" 

"Why,  no!  Didn't  he  sleep  well  last 
night?" 

She  gave  a  non-committal  shrug  and  passed 
into  the  room.  He  was  watching  for  her 
coming,  and  a  ghost  of  a  smile  flickered  at  the 
corners  of  his  mouth.  She  couldn't  remember 
having  seen  even  so  much  of  a  smile  before. 

"  It's — it's  Leerie."  He  said  it  just  as  he 
had  the  night  before.  But  there  was  a 
strange,  wistful  appeal  in  the  voice  which  set 
Sheila  wondering  afresh. 

"Gorgeous  night,  full  of  stars,  and  air  like 
wine.  Smell  the  verbena  and  thyme  from 
the  San  gardens?"  Sheila  threw  back  her 
head  and  sniffed  the  air  like  a  wild  thing. 
"Took  me  a  month  to  trail  that  smell — be 
sure  of  it.  You  only  get  it  at  night  after  a 
light  rain.  Take  some  long  breaths  of  it  and 
you'll  be  asleep  before  lights  are  out." 

But  he  was  not.     He  lay  rigid  as  the  night 

24 


THE   MAN   WHO   FEARED   SLEEP 

before,  his  eyes  staring  straight  before  him. 
Sheila  remembered  a  description  she  had  read 
once  of  a  mountain  guide  who  had  been 
caught  on  the  edge  of  a  landslide  and  hung 
for  hours  over  the  abyss,  clutching  a  half- 
felled  tree  and  trying  to  keep  awake  until 
help  came.  The  man  she  was  nursing  might 
almost  be  living  through  such  an  agony  of 
mind  and  body,  afraid  to  yield  up  his  con 
sciousness  lest  he  should  go  plunging  off  into 
some  horrible  abyss.  What  did  he  fear? 
Was  it  sleep?  Was  somnophobia  what  lay 
behind  the  wrecking  of  this  fine,  clean  man 
hood?  The  thing  seemed  incredible,  and 
yet — and  yet — 

Before  dawn  crept  again  into  the  Surgical, 
the  mind  of  Sheila  O'Leary  was  made  up. 
Peter  was  suddenly  aware  that  the  nurse 
was  close  at  his  bedside,  chafing  the  clenched 
fingers  free.  It  was  that  mysterious  hour 
that  hangs  between  the  going  night  and  com 
ing  day,  the  most  non-resisting  time  for  body 
and  mind,  when  the  human  will  gives  up  the 
struggle  if  it  gives  it  up  at  all.  And  Sheila 
O'Leary,  being  well  aware  of  this,  rubbed 
the  tense  nerves  into  a  comfortable  state  of 
relaxation  and  talked. 

25 


LEERIE 

First  she  talked  of  the  city,  and  found  he 
was  not  city-born.  Then  she  talked  of  the 
country — of  South,  East,  and  West — and  lo 
cated  his  birthplace  in  a  small  New  England 
village.  She  talked  of  the  outdoor  freedom 
of  a  country  boy,  of  the  wholesome  work  and 
fun  on  a  farm  with  a  large  family  and  good 
old-fashioned  parents,  and  she  found  that  he 
had  been  an  only  child,  motherless,  with  a 
family  consisting  of  a  misanthropic,  grief- 
stricken  father  and  a  hired  girl.  His  voice 
sounded  toneless  and  more  tired  than  ever  as 
he  spoke  of  his  childhood. 

"Lonely?"  queried  Sheila. 

"Perhaps." 

"Neglected  and — frightened?" 

"What  do  you  mean?" 

The  girl  leaned  over  the  bed  and  looked 
straight  into  the  eyes  that  seemed  to  be  dar 
ing  her  to  find  the  way  into  his  darkness  and 
at  the  same  time  barring  fast  the  door 
against  her  coming.  She  smiled  gently. 
"Tell  me — can  you  remember  when  you  first 
began  to  fear  sleep?" 

There  was  no  denial,  no  protest.  Peter 
sighed  as  a  little  worn-out  boy  might  have 
sighed  with  the  irksome  concealment  of  some 

26 


THE   MAN   WHO   FEARED   SLEEP 

forbidden  act.  "I  don't  know,"  he  said  at 
last.  "I  can't  think  back  to  a  time  when  I 
wasn't  afraid — afraid  of  the  dropping  out, 
into  the  dark.  God!"  Ke  turned  his  head 
away,  and  for  the  first  time  in  two  weary, 
wakeful  nights  Sheila  saw  him  close  his 
eyes. 

Off  duty,  instead  of  going  to  breakfast  and 
bed,  Sheila  O'Leary  v/ent  to  the  office  of  the 
superintendent  of  nurses.  In  her  usual  fash 
ion  she  came  straight  to  her  point.  "Put 
Saunders  back  on  Number  Three  and  give 
me  a  couple  of  days  off.  Please,  Miss 
Max." 

Her  abruptness  shook  the  almost  unshak 
able  calm  of  Miss  Maxwell.  She  gazed  at 
the  girl  in  frank  amazement.  "May  I  ask 
why?"  There  was  a  kindly  irony  in  the 
question. 

"Sounds  queer,  I  know,  but  I've  simply 
got  to  go.  Lots  depends  on  it,  and  no  time 
now  to  explain.  Want  to  catch  that  eight- 
thirty-five;  Flanders  is  holding  the  bus. 
Tell  you  when  I  get  back  —  please,  Miss 
Max?"  And  taking  consent  for  granted, 
Sheila  started  for  the  door. 

There  was  an  odd  look  on  the  face  of  the 

27 


LEERIE 

superintendent  as  she  watched  her  go — a  look 
of  amused,  loving  pride.  She  might  hide  it 
from  their  little  world,  but  she  could  not  deny 
it  to  herself,  that  of  all  the  girls  she  had 
helped  to  train,  none  had  come  so  close  to  her 
heart  as  this  girl  with  her  wonderful  insight, 
her  honesty,  her  plain  speaking,  and  her  heart 
of  gold.  A  hundred  times  she  had  defied  the 
rules  of  the  sanitarium,  had  swept  the  super 
intendent's  dignity  to  the  four  winds.  And 
she  would  continue  to  do  so,  and  they  would 
continue  to  overlook  it.  Such  petty  offenses 
are  forgiven  the  Leeries  the  world  over.  And 
now,  watching  the  gray,  alive  figure  climbing 
into  the  omnibus,  Miss  Maxwell  had  no 
mind  to  resent  her  breach  of  discipline.  She 
knew  the  girl  had  asked  nothing  for  herself; 
she  had  gone  to  do  something  for  somebody 
who  needed  it,  and  she  would  report  for  duty 
again  when  that  was  accomplished. 

And  two  days  later,  accordingly,  she  came, 
a  luminous,  ecstatic  figure  that  flew  into  the 
office  with  arms  outstretched  to  swing  the 
superintendent  almost  off  her  feet  in  joyful 
triumph.  "It  was  just  what  I  thought! 
Found  the  girl — only  she  is  an  old  woman 
now — got  the  whole  miserable  story  from  her, 

28 


THE   MAN   WHO   FEARED   SLEEP 

and — and — I  think — I  think —  Good  heart 
alive!  I  think  I  can  pull  him  out  of  the 
beastly  old  hole!" 

"Meaning — ?  Remember,  my  dear,  I 
haven't  the  grain  of  an  idea  why  you  went,  or 
where  you  went,  or  what  the  miserable  story 
is  about.  Please  shine  your  lantern  this 
way  and  light  up  my  intelligence."  Miss 
Maxwell  was  beaming. 

Sheila  O'Leary  laughed.  "I  began  by 
jumping  at  conclusions — same  as  I  always  do 
— jumped  at  'phobia  in  Number  Three.  Al 
most  came  and  asked  to  be  put  on  the  case  af 
ter  you  told  me.  But  he  isn't  Number  Three 
any  more — he's  a  little  boy  named  Peter — a 
little  boy,  almost  a  baby,  frightened  night  af 
ter  night  for  years  and  years  into  lying  still  in 
the  dark  under  the  eaves  in  a  little  attic  room, 
deliberately  frightened  by  a  hired  girl  who 
wanted  to  be  free  to  go  off  gadding  with  her 
young  man.  I  got  the  place  and  her  name 
from  Peter — coaxed  it  out  of  him — and  I 
made  her  tell  me  the  story.  The  father  paid 
her  extra  wages  to  stay  at  night  so  the  little 
boy  wouldn't  be  lonely  and  miss  his  mother 
too  much,  and  she  didn't  want  him  to  find 
out  she  had  gone.  So  she'd  put  Peter  to  bed 

29 


LEERIE 

and  tell  him  that  if  he  stirred  or  cried  out  the 
walls  would  close  in  on  him — or  the  floor 
would  swallow  him  up — or  the  ghosts  would 
come  out  of  the  corners  and  eat  him  up  or 
carry  him  off.  Can't  you  see  him  there,  a 
little  quivering  heap  of  a  boy,  awake  in  the 
dark,  afraid  to  move?  Can't  you  feel  how 
he  would  lie  and  listen  to  all  the  sounds  about 
him — the  squealing  mice,  the  creaking  raf 
ters,  the  wind  moaning  in  the  eaves — too 
terrified  to  go  to  sleep?  And  when  he  did 
sleep — worn  out — can't  you  imagine  what 
his  dreams  would  be  like?  Oh,  women  like 
that — women  who  could  frighten  little  sensi 
tive  children — ought  to  be  burned  as  they 
burned  the  witches!"  The  girl's  eyes  blazed 
and  she  shook  a  pair  of  clenched  fists  into  the 
air.  "And  can  you  see  the  rest  of  it?  How 
the  fear  grew  and  grew  even  as  the  memory 
of  the  tales  faded,  grew  into  a  nameless,  un- 
explainable  fear  of  sleep?  And  because  he 
was  a  boy  he  hid  it;  and  because  he  was  a 
man  he  fought  it ;  but  the  thing  nailed  him  at 
last.  He  fought  sleep  until  he  lost  the  habit 
of  sleep.  He  couldn't  get  along  without  it, 
and  here  he  is!" 

"Well,    what    are    you    going    to    do?" 

30 


THE   MAN   WHO   FEARED   SLEEP 

The  superintendent  eyed  her  narrowly;  her 
cheeks  were  as  flushed  as  the  girl's. 

A  little  enigmatical  smile  curved  up  the 
corners  of  the  usually  demure  mouth.  "Go 
ing  to  play  Leerie — going  to  play  it  harder 
than  I  ever  did  in  my  life  before." 

And  that  night  as  Peter  turned  his  head 
wearily  toward  the  door  to  greet  the  kindly, 
cumbersome  Saunders,  he  found,  to  his  sur 
prise,  the  owner  of  the  shining  eyes  come 
back.  He  felt  so  ridiculously  glad  about  it 
that  he  couldn't  even  trust  himself  to  tell  her 
so.  Instead  he  repeated  foolishly  the  same 
old  thing,  "Why,  it's— it's  Leerie!" 

When  everything  was  ready  for  the  night, 
Sheila  turned  the  night-light  out  and  lowered 
the  curtain  until  it  was  quite  dark.  Then 
she  drew  her  chair  close  to  the  bed  and  slipped 
her  hand  into  the  lean,  clenched  one  on  the 
coverlid.  "Don't  think  of  me  as  a  girl — a 
nurse — a  person — at  all,  to-night,"  she  said, 
softly.  "I'm  just  a  piece  of  Stevenson's 
poem  come  to  life — a  lamplighter  for  a  little 
boy  going  to  sleep  all  alone  in  a  farm-house 
attic.  It's  very  dark.  You  can  hear  the 
mice  squeal  and  the  rafters  creak,  if  you 
listen,  and  the  window's  so  small  the  stars 

31 


LEERIE 

can't  creep  in.  In  the  daytime  the  attic 
doesn't  seem  far  away  or  very  strange,  but 
at  night  it's  miles — miles  away  from  the  rest 
of  the  house,  and  it's  full  of  things  that  may 
happen.  That's  why  I'm  here  with  my 
lamp." 

Sheila  stopped  a  moment.  She  could  hear 
the  man's  breath  coming  quick,  with  a  catch 
in  it — a  child  breathes  that  way  when  it  is 
fighting  down  a  cry  or  a  sob.  Then  she  went 
on:  "Of  course  it's  a  magical  lamp  I  carry, 
and  with  the  first  sputter  and  spark  it  lights 
up  and  turns  the  attic  inside  out — and  there 
we  are,  the  little  boy  and  I,  hand  in  hand, 
running  straight  for  the  brook  back  of  the 
house.  The  lamp  burns  as  bright  as  the  sun 
now,  so  it  seems  like  day — a  spring  day.  It 
isn't  the  mice  squealing  at  all  that  you 
hear,  but  the  birds  singing  and  the  brook 
running.  There  are  cowslips  down  by  the 
brook,  and  'Jacks.'  Here  by  the  big  stone 
is  a  chance  to  build  a  bully  good  dam  and 
sailboats  made  out  of  the  shingles  blown  off 
from  the  barn  roof.  Want  to  stop  and  build 
it  now?" 

"All  right."  There  was  almost  a  sup 
pressed  laugh  in  the  voice;  it  certainly 

32 


THE   MAN   WHO   FEARED   SLEEP 

sounded  glad.  And  the  hand  on  the  coverlid 
was  as  relaxed  as  that  of  a  child  being  led 
somewhere  it  wants  to  go. 

Sheila  smiled  happily  in  the  dark:  "You 
must  get  stones,  then — lots  and  lots  of  them 
— and  we'll  pile  them  together.  There's  one 
stone — and  two  stones — and  three  stones. 
Another  stone  here — another  here — another 
here — a  big  one  there  where  the  current 
runs  swiftest,  and  little  stones  tor  the 
chinks." 

According  to  Sheila  O'Leary's  best  reck 
oning  the  dam  was  only  half  built  when  the 
little  boy  fell  fast  asleep  over  his  work.  And 
when  the  gray  of  the  morning  stole  down  the 
corridors  of  the  Surgical,  No.  3  was  sleeping, 
with  one  arm  thrown  over  his  head  as  little 
boys  sleep,  and  the  other  holding  fast  to  the 
nurse  on  night  duty. 

But  it  takes  a  long  while  to  break  down  an 
old  habit  and  build  up  a  new  one,  as  it  takes 
a  long  while  to  build  a  dam.  No  less  than 
tons  of  stones  must  have  gone  to  the  building 
of  Peter's  before  the  time  came  when  he  could 
drop  asleep  alone  and  unguided.  In  all  that 
time  neither  he  nor  the  girl  ever  spoke  of  what 
lay  between  the  putting  out  of  the  night  lamp 

33 


LEERIE 

and  the  waking  fresh  and  rested  to  a  wel 
comed  day. 

With  sleep  came  speedy  recovery,  and 
Peter  was  the  most  popular  convalescent  in 
the  Surgical.  His  laugh  had  suddenly  grown 
contagious,  his  humor  irresistible,  his  outlook 
on  life  so  optimistically  bubbling  that  less 
cheery  patients  turned  their  wheel-chairs  to 
No.  3  for  revitalizing.  The  chief  came  up 
with  Doctor  Dempsy  from  town,  and  both 
went  away  wearing  the  look  of  men  who  have 
seen  miracles.  Life  in  its  fullness  had  come 
to  Peter,  the  life  he  had  dreamed  of,  as  a  lost 
crosser  of  the  desert  dreams  of  water.  Effi 
cient  work  was  to  be  his  again,  and  com 
panionship,  and — yes,  for  the  first  time  he 
hoped  for  the  third  and  best  of  life's  ingredi 
ents — he  hoped  for  love. 

And  then,  just  as  everything  looked  best 
and  brightest,  he  was  told  that  he  no  longer 
needed  a  night  nurse.  Sheila  O'Leary  was 
put  on  the  case  of  an  old  lady  with  chronic 
dyspepsia.  She  told  him  herself,  as  she  went 
off  duty  in  the  Surgical  for  the  last  time. 

"You've  had  the  best  sleep  of  all."  She 
smiled  at  his  efforts  to  pull  himself  awake. 
"I'll  drop  in  when  I'm  passing,  to  see  how 

34 


THE   MAN   WHO   FEARED   SLEEP 

you're  getting  on,  but  otherwise  this  is  good- 
by  and  good  luck."  She  held  out  her  hand. 
"Why— but—  Hang  it  all!  I  can't  get 
along  without  a  night  nurse.  And  if  I  don't 
need  one,  why  can't  you  take  Miss  Tyler's 
place  in  the  day?" 

"Orders."     Sheila  announced  it  as  an  un 
shakable  fact. 

"I'll  see  Miss  Maxwell." 
"No  use.     She  wouldn't  listen." 
"Guess  if  I'm  paying  for  it  I  can  have — " 
Sheila   O'Leary's   chin    squared    and   her 
body  stiffened.     "There  are  some  things  no 
one  can  pay  for,  Mr.  Brooks." 

Peter  colored  crimson.  He  reached  quickly 
for  the  hand  Sheila  had  pulled  away.  "  What 
an  ungrateful  cur  you  must  think  I  am !  And 
I've  never  said  a  word — never  thanked  you." 
"There  was  nothing  to  thank  for.  I  was 
only  undoing  what  another  woman  had  done 
long  ago.  That's  one  of  the  glad  things 
about  nursing;  we  so  often  have  a  chance  at 
just  that  sort  of  thing — the  chance  to  make 
up  for  some  of  the  blind  mistakes  in  life. 
Good-by.  I'm  late  now." 

"But— but— "     Peter  held  frantically  to 
the  hand,     "  'Pon  my  soul,  I  can't  let  you  go 

35 


LEERIE 

until — until — "  He  broke  off,  crimsoning 
again.  "Promise  a  time  when  you  will  come 
back — just  a  minute  I  can  count  on  and  look 
forward  to.  Please!" 

"All  right — I'll  be  back  at  four — just  for  a 
minute." 

It  happened,  however,  that  Miss  Jacobs— 
pink-cheeked,  auburn-haired,  green-eyed  lit 
tle  Miss  Jacobs,  the  first  nurse  on  Peter's 
case,  blew  into  No.  3  a  few  minutes  before 
four.  She  had  developed  the  habit  of  blow 
ing  in  at  least  once  in  the  day  and  telling 
Peter  how  perfectly  splendid  it  was  to  see 
him  getting  along  so  well.  But  as  he  did  not 
happen  to  look  quite  so  well  this  time,  she 
condoled  and  wormed  the  reason  out  of 
Peter. 

"Leerie  off  duty!  Don't  you  think  it's 
rather  remarkable  they  let  her  stay  so  long? 
Of  course  the  management,  as  a  rule,  doesn't 
let  her  have  cases  of — of  this  kind.  A  girl 
who's  been  sent  away  on  account  of — of — 
questionable  conduct  isn't  exactly  safe  to 
trust.  Don't  you  think  so?  And  the  San 
can't  afford  to  risk  its  reputation."  For  an 
instant  the  green  eyes  shimmered  and  glis 
tened  balefully,  while  she  tossed  her  auburn 


THE   MAN   WHO   FEARED   SLEEP 

curls  coyly  at  Peter.  "It's  really  too  bad, 
for  she's  a  wonderful  surgical  nurse.  All  the 
best  surgeons  want  her  on  their  cases.  That's 
why  they  put  her  on  with  you;  that's  really 
why  they  let  her  come  back  at  all." 

A  look  in  Peter's  eyes  stopped  her  and 
made  her  look  back  over  her  shoulder. 
Sheila  O'Leary  stood  in  the  open  doorway. 
For  an  instant  the  perpetual  assurance  of 
Miss  Jacobs  was  shaken,  but  only  for  an 
instant.  She  smiled  tolerantly.  "Hello, 
Leerie!  I've  been  telling  Mr.  Brooks  what 
a  wonderful  surgical  nurse  you  are." 

The  gray  eyes  of  the  girl  in  the  doorway 
looked  steadily  into  the  green  eyes  of  the  girl 
by  the  bed.  "Thank  you,  Coppy,  I  heard 
you."  And  she  stepped  aside  to  let  the  other 
pass  out. 

"Well?"  she  asked  when  the  two  were 
alone. 

"Well!"  answered  Peter,  emphatically. 
"Everything  is  very,  very  well.  Do  you 
know,"  and  he  smiled  up  at  her  like  a  happy 
small  boy — "do  you  know  that  all  the  while 
you  were  building  that  dam  I  was  building 
something  else?" 

"Were  you?" 

37 


LEERIE 

"  I  was  building  my  life  over  again — build 
ing  it  fresh,  with  the  fear  gone  and  everything 
sound  and  strong  and  fine.  And  into  the 
chinks  where  all  the  miserable  empty  places 
had  been — the  places  where  loneliness  and 
heartache  eternally  leaked  through — I  was 
fitting  love,  the  love  I  never  dared  dream  of." 

"Yes?" 

The  girl's  lips  looked  strangely  hard — 
almost  bitter,  Peter  thought;  and  this  time 
he  reached  out  both  arms  to  her. 

"Hang  it  all!  It's  tough  on  a  man  who's 
never  dared  dream  of  love  to  have  it  take 
him,  bandaged  and  tied  to  his  bed.  Leerie — 
Leerie!  You  wouldn't  have  the  heart  to 
blow  out  the  lamp  now,  would  you?" 

The  lips  softened,  she  gave  a  sad  little 
shake  of  her  head.  "No,  but  you've  got  to 
keep  it  burning  yourself.  You're  a  man;  you 
can  do  it.  Sorry — can't  help  it.  And  please 
don't  say  anything  more.  Don't  spoil  it  all, 
and  make  me  say  things  I  wish  I  hadn't  and 
send  you  off  to  pay  your  bill  and  leave  the 
Santo-night."  She  smiled  wistfully.  "Dear, 
grown-up  boy!  Don't  you  know  that  it's 
the  customary  thing  for  a  man  to  think  he's 
fallen  in  love  with  his  nurse  when  he's  con- 

38 


THE   MAN   WHO   FEARED   SLEEP 

valescing?  Just  get  well  and  forget  it — as  all 
the  others  do."  She  turned  toward  the  door. 
"I'm  not  going  to  pay  my  bill  to-night,  and 
I'm  not  going  to  forget  it.  I  guess  all  those 
chinks  haven't  been  filled  up  yet.  I'm  going 
to  stay  until  they  are.  Good  plan,  don't  you 
think?"  And  Peter  Brooks  smiled  like  a  man 
who  had  never  been  given  up — nor  ever  in 
tended  giving  up,  now  that  life  had  given  him 
back  the  things  for  which  he  had  a  right  to 
fight. 

4 


Chapter   II 

OLD   KING   COLE 

HENNESSY  was  feeding  the  swans. 
Sheila  O'Leary  leaned  over  the  sill  of 
the  diminutive  rustic  rest-house  and  watched 
him  with  a  tired  contentment.  She  had  just 
come  off  a  neurasthenic  case — a  week  of 
twenty-four-hour  duty — and  she  wanted  to 
stretch  her  cramped  sensibilities  in  the  quiet 
peace  of  the  little  house  and  invite  her  soul 
with  a  glimpse  of  Hennessy  and  the  swans. 

All  about  her  the  grounds  of  the  sanitarium 
were  astir  with  its  customary  crowd  of  early  - 
summer-afternoon  patients.  How  those  first 
warm  days  called  the  sick  folks  out-of-doors 
and  held  them  there  until  the  last  beam  of 
sunshine  had  disappeared  behind  the  fore 
most  hill!  The  tennis-courts  were  full;  the 
golf-links  were  dotted  about  with  spots  of 
color  like  a  cubist  picture;  pairs  of  proba 
tioners,  arm  in  arm,  were  strolling  about,  en 
joying  a  comparative  leisure;  old  Madam 

40 


OLD   KING    COLE 


Courot  was  at  her  customary  place  under  the 
juniper,  watching  the  sun  go  down.  Three 
years!  Nothing  seemed  changed  in  all  that 
time  but  the  patients — and  not  all  of  these, 
as  Madame  Courot  silently  testified.  The 
pines  shook  themselves  above  the  rest-house 
in  the  same  lazy,  vagabond  fashion,  the  sun 
purpled  the  far  hills  and  spun  the  same  yellow 
haze  over  the  links,  the  wind  brought  its 
habitual  afternoon  accompaniment  of  cow 
bells  from  the  sanitarium  farm,  and  Hennessy 
threw  the  last  crumb  of  bread  to  Brian  Boru, 
the  gray  swan,  as  he  had  done  for  the  fifteen 
years  Sheila  could  remember. 

She  folded  her  arms  across  the  sill  and 
rested  her  chin  on  them.  How  good  it  was 
to  be  back  at  the  old  San,  to  settle  down  to  its 
kindly,  comfortable  ways  and  the  peace  of  its 
setting  after  the  feverish  restlessness  of  city 
hospitals!  She  remembered  what  Kipling 
had  said,  that  the  hill  people  who  came  down 
to  the  plains  were  always  hungering  to  get 
back  to  the  hills  again.  That  was  the  way 
she  had  felt  about  it — always  a  hunger  to 
come  back.  For  months  and  months  she  had 
thought  that  she  might  forever  have  to  stay 
in  those  hospitals,  have  to  make  up  her  mind 

41 


LEERIE 

to  the  eternal  plains — and  then  had  come  her 
reprieve — she  had  been  called  back  to  the 
San  and  the  work  she  loved  best. 

Had  the  place  been  any  other  than  the 
sanitarium,  and  the  person  any  other  than 
Sheila  O'Leary,  this  would  never  have  hap 
pened.  For  she  had  left  under  a  cloud,  and 
in  similar  cases  a  cloud,  once  gathered,  grows 
until  it  envelops,  suffocates,  and  finally  an 
nihilates  the  person.  As  a  graduate  nurse 
she  would  have  ceased  to  exist.  But  in  spite 
of  the  most  blighting  circumstances,  those 
who  counted  most  believed  in  her  and  trusted 
her.  They  had  only  waited  for  time  to  forget 
and  tongues  to  stop  wagging,  and  then  they 
had  called  her  back.  Perhaps  the  strangest 
thing  about  it  was  that  Sheila  did  not  look 
like  a  person  who  could  have  had  even  the 
smallest,  fleeciest  of  clouds  brushing  her  most 
distant  horizon.  In  fact,  so  vital,  warm, 
and  glowing  was  her  personality,  so  radiant 
her  nature,  that  she  seemed  instead  a  per 
manent  dispeller  of  clouds. 

From  across  the  pond  Hennessy  watched 
her  with  adoring  eyes  as  he  gave  his  habitual, 
final  bang  to  the  bread-platter  and  the  hitch 
to  his  corduroys  preparatory  to  leaving. 

42 


OLD   KING   COLE 


To  his  way  of  thinking,  there  was  no  nurse 
enrolled  on  the  books  of  the  old  San  who 
could  compare  with  her.  In  the  beginning 
he  had  prophesied  great  things  of  her  to 
Flanders,  the  bus-driver.  "Ye  mind  what 
I'm  tellin'  ye,"  he  had  said.  "Afore  she's 
finished  her  trainin'  she'll  have  more  lads 
a-dandtherin'  round  her  than  if  she'd  been 
the  King  of  Ireland's  only  daughter.  Ye  can 
take  my  word  for  it,  when  she  leaves  here, 
'twill  be  a  grand  home  of  her  own  she'll  be 
goin'  to  an'  no  dirty  hospital." 

That  had  been  three  years  ago,  and  Hen- 
nessy  sighed  now  over  the  utter  futility  of  his 
words.  "Sure,  who  could  have  been  seem' 
that  one  o'  the  lads  would  have  turned  black 
guard?  Hennessy  knows.  Just  give  the  lass 
time  for  that  hurt  to  heal,  an'  she'll  be  win- 
nin'  a  home  of  her  own,  after  all."  This  he 
muttered  to  himself  as  he  took  the  path  lead 
ing  toward  the  rest-house. 

Sheila  saw  him  coming,  his  lips  shirred  to 
the  closeness  of  some  emotional  strain. 
"Hello,  Hennessy!  What's  troubling?"  she 
called  down  the  path. 

"Faith,  it's  Mr.  Peter  Brooks  that's 
troublin'.  'Tis  a  week,  now,  that  ye've  been 

43 


LEERIE 

off  that  case — an'  he's  near  cured.  Another 
week  now — " 

"  In  another  week  he'll  be  going  back  to  his 
work — and  I'll  be  very  glad." 

Hennessy  eyed  the  girl  narrowly.  "Will 
ye,  then?  Why  did  ye  cure  him  up  so  fast 
for,  Miss  Leerie?  Why  didn't  ye  give  the 
poor  man  a  chance?" 

No  one  but  Hennessy  would  have  had  suf 
ficient  temerity  for  such  a  question,  but  had 
any  one  dared  to  ask  it,  upon  their  heads 
would  have  fallen  the  combined  anger  and 
bitterness  of  Sheila's  tongue.  For  having 
had  occasion  once  for  bitterness,  it  was  not 
over-hard  to  waken  it  when  men  served  as 
topics.  But  at  Hennessy  she  smiled  toler 
antly.  "  Didn't  I  give  him  a  chance  to  get 
well?  That  was  all  he  needed  or  wanted. 
And,  now  he's  well,  he'll  go  about  his  busi 
ness." 

"Faith,"  and  Hennessy  closed  a  suggestive 
eye,  "that  depends  on  what  he  takes  to  be  his 
business.  In  my  young  days  the  choosin' 
an'  courtin'  of  a  wife  was  the  big  part  of  a 
man's  business.  Now  if  he  comes  round 
askin'  my  opinion — " 

"Tell  him,  Hennessy " —and  Sheila  fixed 

44 


OLD    KING    COLE 


him  firmly  with  a  glance — "that  the  sani 
tarium  does  not  encourage  its  cured  pa 
tients  to  hang  about  bothering  its  nurses. 
It  is  apt  to  make  trouble  for  the  nurses. 
Understand?" 

Again  Hennessy  closed  one  eye;  then  he 
laughed.  "When  ye  talk  of  devils  ye're 
sure  to  smell  brimstone.  There  comes  Mr. 
Brooks  now,  an'  he  has  his  head  back  like  a 
dog  trailin'  the  wind." 

The  girl  turned  and  followed  Hennessy's 
jerking  thumb  with  her  eyes.  Across  the 
pine  grove,  coming  toward  them,  was  a  young 
man  above  medium  height,  square-shoul 
dered  and  erect.  There  was  nothing  start - 
lingly  handsome  nor  remarkable  about  his 
appearance;  he  was  just  nice,  strong,  clean- 
looking.  He  waved  to  the  two  by  the  rest- 
house. 

"And  do  ye  mind  his  looks  when  he 
came!"  Hennessy's  tone  denoted  wonder 
and  admiration. 

"A  human  wreck — haunted  at  that." 
There  was  a  good  deal  more  than  mere  pro 
fessional  interest  in  Sheila's  tone;  there  was 
pride  and  something  else.  It  was  past  Hen 
nessy's  perceptive  powers  to  define  what,  but 

45 


LEERIE 

he  noticed  it,  nevertheless,  and  looked 
sharply  up  at  the  girl. 

"For  the  love  o'  Mike,  Miss  Leerie! 
Why  can't  ye  stop  ticketin'  each  man  as  a 
case  an'  begin  thinkin'  about  them  human 
like?  Ye  might  begin  practisin'  wi'  Mr. 
Brooks." 

The  line  of  Sheila's  lips  became  fixed ;  the 
chin  that  could  look  so  demure,  the  eyes  that 
could  look  so  soft  and  gentle,  both  backed  up 
the  lips  in  an  expression  of  inscrutable 
hardness. 

"In  the  name  of  your  patron  saint,  Hen- 
nessy,  what  have  you  said  to  Miss  Leerie  to 
turn  her  into  that  sphinx  again?"  The  voice 
of  Peter  Brooks  was  as  nice  as  his  appearance. 

Hennessy  looked  foolish.  "I  was  tellin' 
her,  then,"  he  moistened  his  lips  to  allow  a 
safer  emigration  of  words — "I  was  tellin'  her 
— that  the  gray  swan  had  the  rheumatism  in 
his  left  leg,  an'  I  was  askin'  her,  did  she  think 
Doctor  Willum  would  prescribe  a  thermo 
bath  for  him.  I'd  best  be  askin'  him  meself, 
maybe,"  and  with  a  sudden  pull  at  his  fore 
lock  Hennessy  backed  away  down  the  path. 

Peter  Brooks  watched  him  depart  with  an 
admiration  equal  to  that  with  which  Hen- 

40 


OLD    KING    COLE 


nessy  had  welcomed  him.  "That  man  has  a 
wonderful  insight  into  human  nature.  Now 
I  was  just  wishing  I  could  have  you  all  alone 
for  about — 

Sheila  interrupted  him.  "I  hope  you 
weren't  counting  on  too  many  minutes.  I 
can  see  Miss  Maxwell  coming  down  the  San 
steps,  and  I  have  a  substantial  feeling  that 
she's  looking  for  me  to  put  me  on  another 
case." 

"Couldn't  we  escape?  Couldn't  we  skip 
round  by  the  farm  to  the  garage  and  get  my 
car?  You  look  fagged  out.  A  couple  of 
hours'  ride  would  do  wonders  for  you,  and — 
Good  Lord!  The  San  can.  run  that  long 
without  your  services.  What  do  you  say? 
Shall  we  beat  it?" 

With  a  telltale,  pent-up  eagerness  he  no 
ticed  the  girl's  indecision  and  flung  himself 
with  all  his  persuasive  powers  to  turn  the 
balance  in  his  favor.  "Do  come.  You  can 
work  better  and  harder  for  a  little  time  off 
now  and  then.  All  the  other  nurses  take  it. 
Why  under  the  heavens  can't  a  man  ever  per 
suade  you  to  have  a  little  pleasure?"  Some 
thing  in  Sheila's  face  stopped  him  and 
prompted  the  one  argument  that  could  have 

47 


LEERIE 

persuaded  her.  "  If  you'll  only  come,  Leerie, 
I'll  promise  to  keep  dumb — absolutely  dumb. 
I'll  promise  not  to  spoil  the  ride  for  you." 

Sheila  flung  him  a  radiant  smile ;  it  almost 
unbalanced  him  and  murdered  his  resolve. 
"Then  I'll  come.  You're  the  first  man  I 
ever  knew  who  could  keep  his  word — that 
way.  Hurry!  we'll  have  to  run  for  it." 
And  taking  the  lead,  she  ducked  through  the 
little  door  of  the  rest-house  and  ran,  straight 
as  the  crow  flies,  to  the  hiding  shelter  of  the 
farm. 

But  her  premonition  was  correct.  When 
she  returned  two  hours  later  in  the  cool  of  a 
summer's  twilight,  with  eyes  that  sparkled 
like  iridescent  pools  and  lips  that  smiled 
generously  her  gratitude  to  the  man  who 
could  keep  his  word,  she  found  the  superin 
tendent  of  nurses  watching  from  the  San 
steps  for  their  car. 

"All  right,  Miss  Maxwell,"  she  nodded 
in  response  to  the  question  that  was  plainly 
stamped  on  the  superintendent's  face. 
"We've  had  supper — don't  even  have  to 
change  my  uniform."  Then  to  Peter, 
"Thank  you." 

The  words  were  meager  enough,  but  Peter 

48 


OLD   KING   COLE 


Brooks  had  already  received  his  compensa 
tion  in  the  girl's  glowing  face.  "It's  'off 
again,  on  again,  gone  again,'  in  your  pro 
fession,  too.  Well,  here's  looking  forward  to 
the  next  escape."  His  laugh  rang  with 
health  and  good  spirits. 

Sheila  stopped  on  her  way  up  the  steps, 
turned  and  looked  back  at  him.  The  wonder 
of  his  recovery  often  surprised  even  herself. 
It  seemed  incredible  that  this  pulsing,  vital 
ized  portion  of  humanity  could  have  once 
been  a  veritable  husk,  hounded  by  a  haunting 
fear  into  a  state  of  hopelessness  and  loathing 
of  existence.  Life  certainly  tingled  in  Peter 
now,  and  every  time  Sheila  felt  it,  man  or  no 
man,  she  could  not  help  rejoice  with  all  her 
heart  at  the  thing  she  had  helped  to  do. 

Peter's  smile  met  hers  half-way  in  the  dusk. 
"It  may  be  another  week  before  I  see  you 
again.  In  case — I'd  like  to  tell  you  that 
I'm  staying  on  indefinitely.  The  chief  has 
pushed  me  out  of  my  Sunday  section  and  has 
sent  me  a  lot  of  special  articles  to  do  up  here. 
He  thinks  I  had  better  not  come  back  until 
I'm  all  fit." 

"You're  perfectly  fit  now."  There  was  a 
brutal  frankness  in  the  girl's  words. 

49 


LEERIE 

Peter  had  grown  used  to  these  moments. 
They  no  longer  troubled  or  hurt  him.  He 
had  begun  to  understand.  "Maybe  I  am; 
I  feel  so,  but  you  can  never  tell.  Then 
there's  always  the  danger  of  one's  heart 
going  back  on  one.  That's  why  I've  decided 
to  stay  on  and  coddle  mine.  Rather  good 
plan?" 

Sheila  O'Leary  vouchsafed  no  answer. 
She  disappeared  through  the  entrance  of 
the  sanitarium,  leaving  Peter  Brooks  still 
smiling.  Neither  his  expression  nor  position 
had  changed  a  few  seconds  later  when  Miss 
Jacobs  touched  him  on  the  arm. 

"Oh,  Mr.  Brooks!  Were  you  the  guilty 
party — running  away  with  Leerie?  For  the 
last  two  hours  we've  been  combing  the  San 
grounds  for  her."  The  green  eyes  of  the 
flirtatious  nurse  gleamed  peculiarly  catlike 
in  the  dusk.  "Of  course  I  don't  suppose  my 
opinion  counts  so  ver}'  much  with  you," 
there  was  a  honeyed,  self -deprecatory  quality 
in  the  girl's  tone,  "but  if  I  were  you,  I 
wouldn't  go  about  so  awfully  much  with 
Leerie.  She's  a  dear  girl — I  don't  suppose 
it's  really  her  fault — but  she  had  such  a 
record.  And  you  know  it's  my  creed  that 

50 


OLD   KING    COLE 


girls  of  that  kind  can  compromise  poor  men 
far  oftener  than  men  compromise  girls.  Oh, 
I  do  hope  you  understand  what  I  mean!" 

Peter  still  wore  a  smile,  but  it  was  a  differ 
ent  smile.  It  was  as  much  like  the  old  one 
as  a  search-light  is  like  sunshine.  He  focused 
it  full  on  Miss  Jacobs's  face.  "  I'm  a  shark  at 
understanding.  And  don't  worry  about  me. 
I'm  more  of  a  shark  in  deep  water  with— 
with  sirens."  He  chuckled  inwardly  at  the 
look  of  blank  incomprehension  on  the  nurse's 
face.  "By  the  way,  just  what  did  you  want 
Miss  Leary  for?  Not  another  accident?" 

The  girl  gave  her  head  a  disgusted  toss. 
"Oh,  they  want  her  to  help  an  old  man  die. 
He  came  up  here  a  week  ago.  I  saw  him  then, 
and  he  looked  ready  to  burst.  Doctor  Mac- 
Byrn  said  he  weighed  over  three  hundred  and 
had  a  blood  pressure  of  two  hundred  and  ten. 
They  can't  bring  it  down,  and  his  heart  is 
about  done  for.  Leerie  always  gets  those 
dying  cases.  Ugh!"  The  girl  shuddered. 
"Guess  they  wouldn't  put  me  on  any  of 
those  sure-dead  cases;  it's  bad  enough  when 
you  happen  on  them." 

Peter  shot  her  a  pitying  glance  and  walked 
back  to  his  car.  He  was  just  climbing  in 

51 


LEERIE 

when  the  girl's  voice  chirped  back  to  him. 
"Just  the  night  for  a  ride,  isn't  it?  I 
couldn't  think  of  letting  you  go  all  alone  and 
be  lonesome.  Isn't  it  lucky  I'm  off  duty  till 
ten!" 

"Lucky  for  the  patient!"  Peter  mumbled 
under  his  breath;  then  aloud:  "Sorry,  but 
I'm  unlucky.  Only  enough  gasoline  to  get 
her  back  to  the  garage.  Good  night."  He 
swung  the  car  free  of  the  curb,  leaving  little 
red-headed,  green-eyed  Miss  Jacobs  in  the 
process  of  gathering  up  her  skirts  and 
mounting  into  thin  air. 

Meanwhile  Sheila  had  followed  the  super 
intendent  to  her  office.  "It's  a  case  of 
cerebral  hemorrhages.  The  man  is  no  fool; 
he  knows  his  condition,  and  he's  been  getting 
increasingly  hard  to  take  care  of  every 
minute  since  he  found  out.  Maybe  you've 
heard  of  him.  He's  Brandle,  the  coal  mag 
nate.  Quite  alone  in  the  world ;  no  children, 
and  his  wife  died  some  few  years  ago.  He's 
very  peculiar,  and  no  one  seems  to  know  what 
to  say  to  him  or  do  for  him.  I'm  a  little 
afraid — "  and  the  superintendent  paused  to 
consider  her  words  before  committing  herself. 
"I  think  perhaps  there  have  been  too  many 

52 


OLD   KING   COLE 


offers  of  prayers  and  scriptural  readings  for 
his  taste." 

"Probably  he'd  prefer  the  last  Town 
Topics  or  the  latest  detective  story."  Sheila 
shook  her  head  violently.  "Why  can't  a 
man  be  allowed  to  die  the  way  he  chooses — 
instead  of  your  way,  or  my  way,  or  the  Rever 
end  Mr.  Grumble's  way?" 

"Miss  Barry  is  on  the  case  now,  and  I'm 
afraid  he's  shocked  her  into— 

"Perpetual  devotion."  Sheila  grinned  sym 
pathetically  as  she  completed  the  sentence. 
They  had  called  her  Prayer-Book  Barry  her 
probation  year  because  of  her  unswerving 
religious  point  of  view,  and  her  years  of 
training  had  only  served  to  increase  it.  The 
picture  of  anything  as  sensitively  pious  as 
Prayer-Book  Barry  helping  a  coal  magnate 
to  depart  this  temporal  world  in  his  own 
chosen  fashion  was  too  much  for  Sheila's 
sense  of  the  grotesque.  She  threw  back  her 
head  and  laughed.  Peal  after  peal  rang  out 
and  over  the  transom  of  the  superintendent's 
office  just  as  Miss  Jacobs  passed. 

It  took  no  great  powers  of  penetration  to 
identify  the  laugh;  a  look  of  satisfaction 
crept  into  the  green  eyes.  "Quite  dramatic 

S3 


LEERIE 

and  brutally  unfeeling  I  call  it,"  she  mur 
mured.  "But  it  will  make  an  entertaining 
story  to  tell  Mr.  Brooks.  He  thinks  Leerie  is 
such  a  little  tinseled  saint." 

Ten  minutes  later  Sheila  O'Leary  followed 
Miss  Maxwell  into  the  large  tower  room  of 
the  sanitarium  to  relieve  Miss  Barry  from 
duty.  As  she  took  her  first  look  from  the 
doorway  she  almost  forgot  herself  and 
laughed  again.  The  room  might  have  been 
a  scene  set  for  a  farce  or  a  cornic  opera. 

Propped  up  in  bed,  with  multitudinous  pil 
lows  about  him,  was  a  very  mammoth  of  a 
man  in  heliotrope- silk  pajamas.  His  face 
was  as  round  and  full  and  bucolic  as  a 
poster  advertising  some  specific  brew  of  beer. 
Surmounting  the  face  was  a  sparse  fringe  of 
white  hair  standing  erect,  while  an  isolated 
lock  mounted  guard  over  a  receding  forehead. 
It  was  evident  that  the  natural  expression  of 
the  face  was  good-natured,  indulgent,  easy 
going,  but  at  the  moment  of  Sheila's  entrance 
it  was  contorted  into  something  that  might 
have  served  for  a  cartoon  of  a  choleric  full 
moon.  The  eyes  were  rolling  frantically  in 
every  direction  but  that  from  which  the  pre 
sumable  infliction  came,  for  seated  at  the 

54 


OLD    KING   COLE 


bedside,  with  a  booklet  of  evening  prayer 
open  on  her  lap,  was  Miss  Barry,  reading 
aloud  in  a  sweet,  gentle  voice. 

Miss  Barry  did  not  stop  until  she  had 
finished  her  paragraph.  The  cessation  of 
her  voice  brought  the  roving  eyes  to  a  stand 
still  ;  then  they  flew  straight  to  Miss  Maxwell 
in  abject  appeal.  "Take  it  away,  ma'am. 
Don't  hurt  it— but  take  it  away!"  The 
articulation  was  thick,  but  it  did  not  mask 
the  wail  in  the  voice,  and  a  gigantic  thumb 
jerked  indicatively  toward  the  patient,  as 
serting  figure  of  Miss  Barry. 

"All  right,  Mr.  Brandle."  Miss  Max 
well's  tone  showed  neither  conciliation  nor 
pity;  it  was  plainly  matter-of-fact.  "As  it 
happens,  I've  brought  you  a  new  nurse. 
Suppose  you  try  Miss  O'Leary  for  the  next 
day  or  two." 

The  wail  broke  out  afresh:  "How  can  I 
tell  if  I  can  stand  her?  They  all  look  alike — 
all  of  'em.  You're  the  fourth,  ain't  you?" 
He  turned  to  the  nurse  at  his  bedside  for 
corroboration. 

"Then  I'm  the  fifth,"  announced  Sheila, 
"and  there's  luck  in  odd  numbers." 

"Five's    my    number."     The    mammoth 

5  55 


LEERIE 

man  looked  a  fraction  less  distracted  as  he 
stated  this  important  fact.  "Born  fifth  day 
of  the  fifth  month,  struck  it  rich  when  I  was 
twenty-five,  married  in  'seventy-five,  formed 
the  American  Coal  Trust  December  fifth, 
eighteen  ninety-five.  How's  that  for  a  num 
ber?" 

"And  I'm  twenty -five,  and  this  is  June 
fifth."  Sheila  smiled. 

"Say,  honest?"  A  glimmer  of  cheerfulness 
filtered  through.  The  man  beckoned  the 
superintendent  of  nurses  closer  and  whispered 
in  a  perfectly  audible  voice :  "  Can't  you  take 
it  away  now?  I'd  like  to  ask  the  other  some 
questions  before  you  leave  her  for  keeps." 

Miss  Maxwell  nodded  a  dismissal  to  the 
nurse  who  had  been,  and  called  Sheila  to  the 
bedside.  "Look  her  over  well,  Mr.  Brandle. 
Miss  O'Leary  isn't  a  bit  sensitive." 

"O'Leary?  That's  not  a  bad  name.  Had 
a  shaft  boss  up  at  my  first  anthracite-mine 
by  that  name — got  on  with  him  first-class. 
Say" — this  direct  to  Sheila — "  can  you  pray?" 

"Not  unless  I  have  to." 

"Not  a  bad  answer.  Now  what — er — 
form  of — literatoore  do  you  prefer?" 

"Things  with  pep — punch — go!" 

56 


OLD    KING   COLE 


' '  Say ,  shake . ' '  The  mammoth  man  smiled 
as  he  held  out  a  giant  fist.  Sheila  had  the 
feeling  she  was  shaking  hands  with  some  pre 
historic  animal.  It  was  almost  repellent, 
and  she  had  to  summon  all  her  sympathy  and 
control  to  be  able  to  return  the  shake  with 
any  degree  of  cordiality. 

"All  right,  ma'am.  You  can  leave  us  now 
to  thrash  it  out  man  to  man.  You'd  better 
get  back  to  managing  your  little  white 
angels,"  and  he  swept  a  dismissing  hand 
toward  Miss  Maxwell  and  the  door. 

Oddly  enough,  there  was  nothing  rude  nor 
affronting  in  the  man's  words.  There  was 
too  much  of  underlying  good  nature  to  per 
mit  it.  With  the  closing  of  the  door  behind 
the  superintendent  he  turned  to  Sheila. 
"Now,  boss,  we  might  as  well  understand 
each  other  —  it  '11  save  strikes  or  hurt  feel 
ings.  Eh?" 

Sheila  nodded. 

"All  right.  I'm  dying,  and  I  know  it. 
May  burst  like  a  paper  bag  or  go  up  like  a 
penny  balloon  any  minute.  Now  praying 
won't  keep  me  from  bursting  a  second  sooner, 
or  send  me  up  a  foot  higher,  so  cut  it  out." 

Again  Sheila  nodded. 

57 


LEERIE 

"That  isn't  all.  Had  two  nurses  who 
agreed,  kept  their  word,  but  they  hadn't  the 
nerve  to  keep  the  parson  from  praying,  and 
when  he  was  off  duty  they  just  sat — twiddled 
their  thumbs  and  waited  for  me  to  quit. 
Couldn't  stand  that — got  on  my  nerves 
something  fearful." 

"  Wanted  to  murder  them,  didn't  you?" 
Sheila  laughed.  "Well,  Mr.  Brandle,  sup 
pose  we  begin  with  supper  and  the  baseball 
news.  After  that  we'll  hunt  up  a  thriller — 
biggest  thriller  they've  got  in  the  book-store." 

"You're  boss,"  was  the  answer,  but  a  look 
of  relief — almost  of  contentment — spread 
over  the  rubicund  face. 

As  Sheila  was  leaving  for  the  supper-tray 
she  paused.  "How  would  you  like  company 
for  supper?" 

"  Company?     Good  Lord,  not  the  parson !" 

"No,  me.  If  you  are  willing  to  sign  for 
two,  I  could  bring  my  supper  up  with  yours." 

"And  not  eat  alone!  By  Jehoshaphat! 
Give  me  that  slip  quick." 

They  had  not  only  a  good  supper,  they  had 
a  noisy  one.  The  coal  magnate  roared  over 
Sheila's  descriptions  of  some  of  the  bath 
treatments  and  their  victims.  In  the  midst 

58 


OLD   KING   COLE 


of  one  particularly  noisy  explosion  he  sud 
denly  stopped  and  looked  accusingly  at  her. 
''Why  don't  you  stop  me?  Don't  you  know 
doctor's  orders?  Had  'em  dinged  into  my 
head  until  I  could  say  'em  backwards:  no 
exertion,  no  excitement,  avoid  all  undue 
movement,  keep  quiet.  Darn  it  all!  As  if 
I  won't  have  to  keep  quiet  long  enough! 
Well — why  don't  you  repeat  those  fool 
orders  and  keep  me  quiet?'5 

Sheila  looked  at  him  with  a  pair  of  steady 
gray  eyes.  "Do  you  know,  Mr.  Brandle,  it 
isn't  a  half-bad  way  to  go  out  of  this  world — 
to  go  laughing." 

The  mammoth  man  beamed.  He  looked 
for  all  the  world  like  the  full  moon  suddenly 
grown  beatific.  "And  I'd  just  about  made 
up  my  mind  that  I'd  never  find  a  blamed  soul 
who  would  feel  that  way  about  it.  Shake 
again,  boss." 

After  the  baseball  news  and  a  fair  start  in 
the  thriller,  he  indulged  further  in  past 
grievances.  "Hadn't  any  more  'n  settled  it 
for  sure  I  was  done  for  than  the  parson  came 
and  the  nurse  took  to  looking  mournful. 
Lord  Almighty!  ain't  it  bad  enough  to  be 
carted  off  in  a  hearse  once  without  folks 

59 


LEERIE 

putting  you  in  beforehand?  That's  not  my 
notion  of  dying.  I  lived  pleasant  and  cheer 
ful,  and  by  the  Lord  Harry,  I  don't  see  why 
I  can't  die  that  way!  And  look-a-here,  boss, 
I  don't  want  any  of  that  repenting  stuff.  I 
don't  need  no  puling  parson  to  tell  me  I'm  a 
sinner.  Any  idiot  couldn't  look  at  me  with 
out  guessing  that  much.  Say!"  He  leaned 
forward  with  sudden  earnestness.  "Take 
a  good  look  at  me  yourself.  See  any  halo  or 
angel  trappings  about  me?" 

Sheila  laughed.  "I'm  afraid  not.  What 
you  really  ought  to  have — what  I  miss  about 
you — is  the  pipe,  and  the  bowl,  and  the 
fiddlers  three." 

"What  do  you  mean  by  that?" 

"Don't  you  remember?  It's  an  old  nurs 
ery  rhyme;  probably  you  heard  it  hundreds 
of  times  when  you  were  a  little  boy: 

"Old  King  Cole  was  a  merry  old  soul 

And  a  merry  old  soul  was  he. 
He  called  for  his  pipe  and  he  called  for  his  bowl, 

And  he  called  for  his  fiddlers  three." 

The  coal  magnate  threw  back  his  head  on 
the  pillows  and  laughed  long  and  loud.  He 
laughed  until  he  grew  purple  and  gasped  for 

60 


OLD    KING   COLE 


breath,  and  he  laughed  while  he  choked,  and 
Sheila  flew  about  for  stimulants.  For  a  few 
breathless  moments  Sheila  thought  she  had 
whipped  up  the  hearse — to  use  the  mammoth 
man's  own  metaphor — but  after  a  panting 
half-hour  the  heart  subsided  and  the  breath 
came  easier. 

"You  nearly  did  for  me  that  time,  boss. 
But  it  fits;  Jehoshaphat,  it  fits  me  like  a 
B.  V.  D. !  The  only  difference  you  might  put 
down  to  simplified  spelling.  Eh?"  And  he 
cautiously  chuckled  at  his  joke. 

While  Sheila  was  making  ready  for  the 
night  he  chuckled  and  lapsed  into  florid, 
heliotrope  studies  by  turns.  "It's  straight, 
what  I  told  you  about  being  a  sinner,"  he 
gave  verbal  expression  to  his  thoughts  at 
last.  "That's  why  I  don't  leave  a  cent  to 
charity — not  a  cent.  Ain't  going  to  have 
any  peaked-faced,  oily-tongued  jackasses 
saying  over  my  coffin  that  I  tried  to  buy  my 
entrance  ticket  into  the  Lord  Almighty's 
kingdom.  No,  sirree!  I  know  I've  lived 
high,  eaten  well,  and  drunk  some.  I've  made 
the  best  of  every  good  bargain  that  came 
within  eyeshot.  I  treated  my  own  hand 
some — and  I  let  the  rest  of  the  world  go 

61 


LEERIE 

hang.  Went  to  church  Easter  Sunday  every 
year  and  put  a  bill  in  the  plate;  you  can 
figure  for  yourself  about  how  much  I've 
given  to  charity.  Never  had  any  time  to 
think  of  it,  anyway — probably  wouldn't  have 
given  if  I  had.  Always  thought  Mother'd 
live  longer  'n  me  and  she'd  take  care  of  that 
end  of  it.  But  she  didn't." 

For  a  moment  Sheila  thought  the  man  was 
going  to  cry;  his  lower  lip  quivered  like  a 
baby's,  and  his  eyes  grew  red  and  watery. 
There  was  no  denying  it,  the  man  was  a 
caricature ;  even  his  grief  was  ludicrous.  He 
wiped  his  eyes  with  the  back  of  his  heliotrope 
sleeve  and  finished  what  he  had  to  say. 
"  Don't  it  beat  all  how  the  pious  vultures 
croak  over  you  the  minute  you're  done  for — 
reminding  you  you  can't  take  your  money 
away  with  you?  Didn't  the  parson — first 
time  he  came — sit  in  that  chair  and  open  up 
and  begin  about  the  rich  man's  squeezing 
through  a  needle's  eye  and  a  lot  about  putting 
away  temporal  stuff?  I  don't  aim  to  do  any 
squeezing  into  heaven,  I  can  tell  you.  And 
I  fixed  him  all  right.  Ha,  ha!  I  told  him  as 
long  as  the  money  wouldn't  do  me  and 
Mother  any  more  good  I'd  settle  it  so's  it 

62 


OLD    KING   COLE 


couldn't  benefit  any  one  else.  And  that's 
exactly  what  I've  done.  Left  it  all  for  a 
monument  for  us,  fancy  marble,  carved 
statues,  and  the  whole  outfit.  It  '11  beat  that 
toadstool-looking  tomb  of  that  prince  some 
where  in  Asia  all  hollow.  Ha,  ha!" 

He  leaned  back  to  enjoy  to  the  full  this 
humorous  legacy  to  himself,  but  the  expres 
sion  of  Sheila's  face  checked  it.  ''Say,  boss, 
you  don't  like  what  I've  done,  do  you?  Run 
it  out  and  dump  it;  I  can  stand  for  straight 
talk  from  you." 

Sheila  felt  repelled  even  more  than  she  had 
at  first.  To  have  a  man  at  the  point  of  death 
throw  his  money  into'  a  heap  of  marble  just 
to  keep  it  from  doing  good  to  any  one  seemed 
horrible.  And  yet  the  man  spoke  so  consist 
ently  for  himself.  Pie  had  lived  in  the  flesh 
and  for  the  flesh  all  his  days;  it  was  not 
strange  that  there  was  no  spirit  to  interpret 
now  for  him  or  to  give  him  the  courage  to  be 
generous  in  the  face  of  what  the  world  would 
think. 

"It's  yours  to  spend  as  you  like — only — 
I  hate  monuments.  Rather  have  the  plain 
green  grass  over  me.  And  don't  you  think 
it's  queer  yourself  that  a  man  who  had  the 


LEERIE 

grit  to  make  himself  and  a  pile  of  money 
hasn't  the  grit  to  leave  it  invested  after  he 
goes,  instead  of  burying  it?  Supposing  you 
can't  live  and  use  it  yourself!  That's  no 
reason  for  not  letting  your  money  live  after 
you.  I'd  want  to  keep  my  money  alive." 

"Alive?     Say,  what  do  you  mean?" 

"Just  what  I  say — alive.  Charity  isn't  the 
only  way  to  dispose  of  it.  Leave  it  to  science 
to  discover  something  new  with;  give  it  to 
the  laboratories  to  study  up  typhoid  or 
cancer.  Ever  think  how  little  we  know 
about  them?" 

"Why  should  I?  I  don't  owe  anything  to 
science." 

"Yes,  you  do.  What  developed  the  need 
of  coal — what  gave  you  the  facilities  for  re 
moving  it  from  your  mines?  Don't  tell  me 
you  or  anybody  else  doesn't  owe  something 
to  science." 

"Bosh!"     And  the  argument  ended  there. 

The  old  man  had  a  good  night.  He  dozed 
as  peacefully  as  if  he  had  not  required  prop 
ping  up  and  occasional  hypodermics  to  keep 
his  lungs  and  heart  going  properly,  and  when 
the  house  doctor  made  his  early  rounds  this 
sad  and  shocking  spectacle  met  his  eye :  the 

64 


OLD   KING   COLE 


dying  coal  magnate,  arrayed  in  a  fresh  and 
more  vivid  suit  of  heliotrope  pajamas,  smok 
ing  a  brierwood  and  keeping  a  violent  emo 
tional  pace  with  the  hero  in  the  thrillingest 
part  of  the  thriller.  Even  Sheila's  cheeks 
were  tinged  with  excitement. 

"Miss  O'Leary!"  All  the  outraged  sensi 
bilities  of  an  orthodox,  conscientious  young 
house  physician  were  plainly  manifested  in 
those  two  words. 

Out  shot  the  brierwood  like  a  projectile, 
and  a  giant  finger  wagged  at  the  intruder. 
"  Look-a-here,  young  man,  the  boss  and  I  are 
running  this — er — quitting  game  to  suit  our 
selves,  and  we  don't  need  no  suggestions  from 
the  walking  delegate,  or  the  board  of  direc 
tors,  or  the  gang.  See?  Now  if  you  can't 
say  something  pleasant  and  cheerful,  get 
out!" 

"Good  morning!"  It  was  the  best  com 
promise  the  house  physician  could  make. 
But  ten  minutes  after  his  speedy  exit  Doctor 
Greer,  the  specialist,  and  Miss  Maxwell  were 
on  the  threshold,  both  looking  unmistakably 
troubled. 

The  coal  magnate  winked  at  Sheila.  "Here 
comes  the  peace  delegates — or  maybe  it's 

65 


LEERIE 

from  the  labor  union.  Well,  sir?"  This 
was  shot  straight  at  the  doctor. 

"Mr.  Brandle,  you're  mad.  I  refuse  to 
take  any  responsibility." 

"Don't  have  to.  That's  what's  been  the 
matter — too  much  responsibility.  It  got  on 
my  nerves.  Now  we  want  to  be  as — as  noisy 
and  as  happy  as  we  can,  the  boss  and  me. 
And  if  we  can't  do  it  in  this  little  old  medi 
cated  brick-pile  of  yours,  why,  we'll  move. 
See?  Or  I'll  buy  it  with  a  few  tons  of  my 
coal  and  give  it  to  the  boss  to  run." 

"When  it's  yours."  The  specialist  was 
rinding  it  hard  to  keep  his  temper.  The 
man  had  worn  him  out  in  the  week  he  had 
been  at  the  sanitarium.  It  had  been  harder 
to  manage  him  than  a  spoiled  child  or  a  luna 
tic.  He  had  had  to  humor  him,  cajole  him, 
entreat  him,  in  a  way  that  galled  his  pro 
fessional  dignity,  and  now  to  have  the  man 
deliberately  and  publicly  kill  himself  in  this 
fashion  was  almost  beyond  endurance.  He 
tried  hard  to  make  his  voice  sound  agreeable 
as  well  as  determined  when  he  launched  his 
ultimatum.  "But  in  the  mean  time  Miss 
O'Leary  will  have  to  be  removed  from  the 
case." 

66 


OLD   KING   COLE 


"No,  you  don't!"  With  a  sweep  of  the 
giant  hand  the  bedclothes  were  jerked  from 
their  roots,  and  a  pair  of  heliotrope  legs  pro 
jected  floonvard.  It  took  the  strength  of  all 
the  three  present  to  hold  him  back  and 
replace  the  covering.  The  magnate  sput 
tered  and  fumed.  "First  nurse  you  put  on 
here  after  the  boss  goes — I'll  die  on  her  hands 
in  ten  minutes  just  to  get  even  with  you. 
That's  what  I'll  do.  And  what's  more — I'll 
come  back  to  haunt  the  both  of  you.  Take 
away  my  boss — just  after  we  get  things  going 
pleasantly.  Spoil  a  poor  man's  prospects  of 
dying  cheerful!  Haven't  you  any  heart, 
man?  And  you,  ma'am?"  this  to  the  super 
intendent  of  nurses.  "By  the  Lord  Harry! 
you're  a  woman — you  ought  to  have  a  little 
sympathy!"  The  aggressiveness  died  out  of 
the  voice,  and  it  took  on  the  old  wail  Sheila 
had  first  heard. 

"But  you  forget  my  professional  respon 
sibility  in  the  matter — my  principles  as  an 
honorable  member  of  my  profession.  I  can 
not  allow  a  patient  of  mine  wilfully  to  en 
danger  his  life — even  shorten  it.  You  must 
understand  that,  Mr.  Brandle." 

A  look  of  amused  toleration  spread  over 


LEERIE 

the  rubicund  face.  "Bless  your  heart,  sonny, 
you're  not  allowing  me  to  shorten  it  one  min 
ute.  The  boss  and  I  are  prolonging  it  first- 
rate.  Shouldn't  wonder  if  it  would  get  to  be 
so  pleasant  having  her  around  I'd  be  working 
over  union  hours  and  forgetting  to  quit  at  all. 
I'm  old  enough  to  be  your  granddaddy,  so 
take  a  bit  of  advice  from  me.  When  you 
can't  cure  a  patient,  let  'em  die  their  own 
way.  Now  run  along,  sonny.  Good  morn 
ing,  ma'am."  And  then  to  Sheila:  "Get 
back  to  that  locked  door,  the  three  bullet- 
holes,  and  the  blood  patch  on  the  floor.  I've 
got  to  know  what's  on  the  other  side  before  I 
touch  one  mouthful  of  that  finnan  haddie 
you  promised  me  for  breakfast." 

After  that  Old  King  Cole  had  his  way. 
The  doctors  visited  him  as  a  matter  of  form, 
and  Sheila  improvised  a  chart,  for  he  would 
not  stand  for  having  temperatures  taken  or 
pulses  counted.  "Cut  it  out,  boss,  cut  it  all 
out.  We're  just  going  to  have  a  good  time, 
you  and  me."  And  he  smiled  seraphically  as 
he  drummed  on  the  spread : 

"Old  King  Cole — diddy-dum-diddy-dum, 

Was  a  merry  old  soul — diddy-dum-diddy-dum." 
68 


OLD   KING  ,COLE 


On  the  second  day  Sheila  introduced  Peter 
Brooks  into  the  "  Keeping-On-Going  Syn 
dicate,"  as  the  mammoth  man  termed  their 
temporary  partnership.  Sheila  had  to  take 
some  hours  off  duty,  and  as  the  coal  magnate 
absolutely  refused  to  let  another  nurse  cross 
his  threshold,  Peter  seemed  to  be  the  only 
practical  solution.  She  knew  the  two  men 
would  get  on  admirably.  Peter  could  be 
counted  on  to  understand  and  meet  any 
emergency  that  might  arise,  while  Old  King 
Cole  would  be  kept  content.  And  Sheila  was 
right. 

"Say,  we  hit  it  off  first-rate — ran  together 
as  smooth  as  a  parcel  o'  greased  tubs,"  the 
magnate  confided  to  Sheila  when  she  returned. 
"He  told  me  a  whole  lot  about  you — what 
you  did  for  him — and  the  nickname  they'd 
given  you — 'Leerie.'  I  like  that,  but  I  like 
my  name  for  you  better.  Eh,  boss?" 

Once  admitted,  Peter  often  availed  himself 
of  his  membership  in  the  syndicate.  He 
made  a  third  at  their  games,  turned  an  atten 
tive  ear  to  the  thriller  or  added  his  bit  to  the 
enlightenment  of  the  conversation.  And 
there  wasn't  a  topic  from  war  to  feminine- 
dress  reform  that  they  did  not  attack  and 

69 


LEERIE 

thrash  out  among  them  with  all  the  keenness 
and  thoroughness  of  three  alive  and  original 
minds. 

"Puts  me  thinking  of  the  days  when  I  was 
switch  boss  at  the  Cassie  Maguire  Mine. 
Nothing  but  a  shaver  then,  working  up; 
nothing  to  do  in  the  God-forsaken  hole,  after 
work,  but  talk.  We  just  about  settled  the 
affairs  of  the  world  and  gave  the  Lord  Al 
mighty  advice  into  the  bargain."  The  mam 
moth  man  laughed  a  mammoth  laugh.  "And 
when  we'd  talked  ourselves  inside  out  we'd 
have  some  fiddling — always  a  fiddle  among 
some  of  the  boys.  Never  hear  one  of  those 
old  tunes  that  it  don't  take  me  back  to  the 
Cassie  Maguire  and  the  way  a  fiddle  would 
play  the  heart  back  into  a  lonely,  homesick 
shaver."  He  turned  with  a  suspicious  sniff 
to  Sheila.  "Come,  boss,  the  chessboard. 
Peter  'n'  me  are  going  to  have  another  Verdun 
set-to.  Only  this  time  he's  German.  See? 
And  if  you  don't  mind,  you  might  fill  up  our 
pipes  and  bring  us  our  four-forty  bowl." 

At  one  time  of  the  day  only  did  the  merri 
ment  flag — that  was  at  dusk.  "Don't  like  it 
—never  did  like  it,"  he  confessed.  "Some 
thing  about  it  that  gets  onto  my  chest  and 

70 


OLD    KING    COLE 


turns  me  gloomy.  Don't  suppose  you  ever 
smelled  the  choke-damp,  did  you?  Well, 
that's  the  feeling.  Say,  boss,  wouldn't  be  a 
bad  plan  to  shine  up  that  old  safety  of  yours 
and  give  us  more  light  in  the  old  pit.  Mother 
quit  about  this  time  o'  day,  and  it  seems  like 
I  can't  forget  it." 

The  next  day  the  coal  magnate  took  a  turn 
for  the  worse.  The  heart  specialist  and  the 
house  doctor  glowered  ominously  at  Sheila 
as  they  came  to  make  their  unwelcome 
rounds,  and  Sheila  hurried  them  out  of  the 
room  as  speedily  as  she  could.  Then  it  was 
that  she  thought  of  the  fiddlers  three.  An 
out-of-town  orchestra  played  biweekly  at 
the  sanitarium.  They  were  young  men, 
most  of  them,  still  apprentices  at  their  art, 
and  she  knew  they  would  be  glad  enough  for 
extra  earnings.  They  were  due  that  evening, 
and  she  would  engage  the  services  of  three 
violins  for  the  dusk  hour  the  old  man 
dreaded.  She  did  not  accomplish  this  with 
out  a  protest  from  the  business  office,  warn 
ings  from  the  two  physicians,  and  shocked 
comments  from  the  habitual  gossips  of  the 
sanitarium.  But  Sheila  held  her  ground  and 
fought  for  her  way  against  their  combined 

d  71 


LEERIE 

attacks.  "Of  course  I  know  he's  dying. 
Don't  care  if  the  whole  San  faints  with 
mortification.  I'm  going  to  see  he  dies  the 
way  he  wants  to — keep  it  merry  till  the  end." 

To  the  Reverend  Mr.  Grumble,  who  re 
quested — nay,  demanded — admittance,  she 
turned  a  deaf  ear  while  she  held  the  door 
firmly  closed  behind  her.  "Can't  come  in. 
Sorry,  he  doesn't  want  you.  If  you  must 
say  a  last  prayer  to  comfort  yourself,  say  it 
in  some  other  room.  It  will  do  Old  King 
Cole  just  as  much  good  and  keep  him  much 
happier.  Now,  please  go!" 

So  it  happened  that  only  Peter  was  present 
when  the  musicians  arrived.  Sheila  ushered 
them  in  with  a  flourish.  "Old  King  Cole, 
your  fiddlers  three.  Now  what  shall  they 
play?" 

Lucky  for  the  indwellers  of  the  sanitarium 
that  the  magnate's  room  was  in  the  tower 
and  therefore  little  sound  escaped.  It  is 
improbable  if  the  final  ending  would  ever 
have  been  known  to  any  but  those  present, 
whose  discretion  could  have  been  relied  upon, 
but  for  the  fact  that  Miss  Jacobs  stood  with 
her  ear  to  the  keyhole  for  fully  ten  minutes. 
It  was  surprising  how  quickly  everybody 

72 


OLD   KING   COLE 


knew  about  it  after  that.  It  created  almost 
as  much  scandal  as  Sheila's  own  exodus  had 
three  years  before.  Many  had  the  temerity 
to  take  the  lift  to  the  third  floor  and  pace  with 
attentive  ears  the  corridor  that  led  to  the 
tower.  These  came  back  to  fan  the  flame  of 
shocked  excitement  below.  The  doctors  and 
Mr.  Grumble  came  to  Miss  Maxwell  to  in 
terfere  and  put  an  end  to  this  ungodly  and 
unprofessional  humoring  of  one  departing 
soul.  But  the  superintendent  of  nurses  re 
fused.  She  had  put  the  case  in  Sheila's 
hands,  and  she  had  absolute  faith  in  her. 
So  all  that  was  left  to  the  busybodies  and 
the  scandalmongers  was  to  hear  what  they 
could  and  give  free  rein  to  their  tongues. 

There  was,  however,  one  mitigating  fact: 
they  could  listen,  and  they  could  talk,  but 
they  could  not  look  beyond  the  closed  door 
of  the  tower  room.  That  vivid,  appalling 
picture  was  mercifully  denied  them.  With  a 
heaping  bowl  of  egg-nog  beside  him,  and  his 
brierwood  between  his  lips,  the  coal  magnate 
beat  time  on  the  bedspread  with  a  fast- 
failing  strength,  while  he  grinned  happily  at 
Sheila.  Beside  him  Peter  lounged  in  a  wheel 
chair,  smoking  for  company,  while  grouped 

73 


LEERIE 

about  the  foot  of  the  bed  in  the  attitude 
of  a  small  celestial  choir  stood  the  fiddlers 
three. 

All  the  good  old  tunes,  reminiscent  of 
younger  days  of  mining-camps  and  dance- 
halls,  they  played  as  fast  as  fingers  could  fly 
and  bows  could  scrape.  "Dan  Tucker," 
"Money  Musk,"  "The  Irish  Washerwoman," 
and  "Pop  Goes  the  Weasel"  sifted  in  melodic 
molecules  through  the  keyhole  into  the  curi 
ous  and  receptive  ears  outside.  And  after 
them  came  "Captain  Jinks"  and  "The  Blue 
Danube,"  "Yankee  Doodle"  and  "Dixie." 

"Some  boss!"  muttered  the  magnate, 
thickly,  the  brierwood  dropping  on  the  floor. 
"Just  one  solid  streak  of  anthracite — clear 
through.  Now  give  us  something  else  —  I 
don't  care — you  choose  it,  boss." 

So  Leerie  chose  "The  Star-spangled  Ban 
ner"  and  "Marching  Through  Georgia,"  and 
as  dusk  crept  closer  about  them,  "  Suwanee 
River"  and  "The  Old  Kentucky  Home." 

"Nice,  sleepy  old  tunes,"  mumbled  the 
coal  magnate.  "Guess  I've  napped  over 
time."  He  opened  one  eye  and  looked  at 
Sheila,  half  amused,  half  puzzled.  "Say, 
boss,  light  up  that  little  old  lamp  o'  yours  and 

74 


OLD    KING   COLE 


take  me  down;  the  shaft's  growing  pretty 
black." 

The  fiddlers  played  a  hymn  as  their  own 
final  contribution.  Sheila  smiled  wistfully 
across  the  dusk  to  Peter.  She  knew  it 
wouldn't  matter  now,  for  Old  King  Cole  was 
passing  beyond  the  reach  of  hymns,  prayers, 
or  benedictions. 

"  It's  over  as  far  as  you  or  I  or  he  are  con 
cerned,"  she  whispered,  whimsically.  "  When 
I  come  down,  by  and  by,  would  you  very 
much  mind  taking  me  on  one  of  those  rides 
you  promised?  I  want  to  forget  that  white- 
marble  monument." 

It  was  not  until  a  week  later  that  Sheila 
O'Leary  met  with  one  of  the  big  surprises  of 
her  rather  eventful  existence.  A  lawyer 
came  down  from  New  York  and  asked  for  her. 
It  seemed  that  the  coal  magnate  had  left  her 
a  considerable  number  of  thousands  to  spend 
for  him  and  ease  her  feelings  about  the  monu 
ment.  The  codicil  was  quaintly  worded  and 
stated  that  inasmuch  as  "Mother"  had  gone 
first,  he  guessed  she  would  do  the  next  best 
by  him. 

Sheila  took  Peter  Brooks  into  her  immedi 
ate  confidence.  "Half  of  it  goes  for  typhoid 

75 


LEERIE 

research  and  half  for  a  nurses'  home  here. 
We've  needed  one  dreadfully.  What  stag 
gers  me  is  when  did  he  do  it?" 

Peter  grinned.  "When  I  happened  to  be 
on  duty.  We  fixed  it  up,  and  I  was  to  keep 
the  secret.  He  had  lots  of  fun  over  it — poor 
old  soul!" 

"Merry  old  soul,"  corrected  Sheila. 

And  when  the  nurses'  home  was  built 
Sheila  flatly  ignored  all  the  suggestions  of  a 
memorial  tablet  with  appropriate  scriptural 
verses  to  grace  the  cornerstone  or  hang  in  the 
entrance-hall. 

"Won't  have  it — never  do  in  the  world! 
Just  going  to  have  his  picture  over  the 
living-room  fireplace." 

And  there  it  hangs — a  gigantic  reproduc 
tion  of  Old  King  Cole,  done  by  the  greatest 
poster  artist  of  America. 


Chapter   III 

THE  CHANGELING 

*E  arrived  in  the  arms  of  his  mother,  the 
mulatto  nurse  having  in  some  inex 
plicable  and  inconsiderate  fashion  acquired 
measles  on  the  ship  coming  from  their  small 
South  American  republic.  Francisco  En 
rique  Manuel  Machado  y  Rodriguez — Pan- 
cho,  for  short — and  his  mother  were  allowed 
to  disembark  only  because  of  his  appalling 
lack  of  health  and  her  promise  to  take  har 
borage  in  a  hospital  instead  of  a  hotel. 

Having  heard  of  the  sanitarium  from  her 
sister-in-law's  brother's  wife's  aunt,  who 
had  been  there  herself,  and  having  traveled 
already  over  a  thousand  miles,  the  additional 
hundred  or  so  seemed  too  trivial  to  bother 
about.  So  the  senora  kept  her  promise  to 
the  officials  by  buying  her  ticket  thitherward, 
and  Flanders,  the  bus-driver,  arrived  just  in 
time  to  see  three  porters  unload  them  and 
their  luggage  on  the  small  station  platform. 

77 


LEERIE 

The  senora  was  weeping  bitterly,  the  powder 
spattered  and  smeared  all  over  her  pretty, 
shallow  little  face;  Pancho  was  clawing  and 
scratching  the  air,  while  he  shrieked  at  the 
top  of  his  lungs — the  only  part  of  him  that 
gave  any  evidence  of  strength. 

Having  disposed  of  the  luggage,  Flanders 
hurried  back  to  the  assistance  of  the  senora, 
whereupon  the  brown  atom  clawed  him  in 
stead  of  the  air  and  fortissimoed  his  shrieking. 
Flanders  promptly  returned  him  to  his 
mother,  backing  away  to  the  bus  and  mut 
tering  something  about  "letting  wildcat's 
cubs  be." 

"Wil'cat?"  repeated  the  senora  through 
her  sobs.  "I  don't  know  what  ees  wil'cat. 
I  theenk  eet  ees  one  leetle  deevil.  Tsa, 
Panchito!  Ciera  la  boca."  And  she  shook 
him. 

During  the  drive  to  the  sanitarium  Flan 
ders  cast  periodic  glances  within.  Each 
time  he  looked  the  atom  appeared  to  be 
shrieking  louder,  while  his  mother  was  shak 
ing  harder  and  longer.  By  the  time  they 
had  reached  their  destination  the  breath  had 
been  shaken  quite  out  of  him.  He  lay  back 
panting  in  his  mother's  arms,  with  only 

78 


THE    CHANGELING 


strength  enough  for  a  feeble  and  occasional 
snarl.  His  bonnet  of  lace  and  cerise -pink 
ribbon  had  come  untied  and  had  slipped  from 
his  head,  disclosing  a  mass  of  black  hair 
curled  by  nature  and  matted  by  neglect. 
It  gave  the  last  uncanny  touch  to  the  brown 
atom's  appearance  and  caused  Henriessy, 
who  was  sweeping  the  crossing,  to  drop  his 
broom  and  stare  agape  at  the  new  arrivals. 

"  Faith,  is  it  one  o'  them  Brazilian  mon 
keys?"  he  whispered,  pulling  Flanders  by 
the  sleeve.  "I've  heard  the  women  are 
makin'  pets  o'  them,  although  I  never  heard 
they  were  after  fixin'  them  up  wi'  lace  an' 
ribbons  like  that." 

"It's  a  kid."  Flanders  stated  the  fact 
without  any  degree  of  positiveness  as  he 
rubbed  three  fingers  cautiously  down  his 
cheek.  He  was  feeling  for  scars.  "Guess 
it's  a  kid  all  right,  but  it  scratches  like  a  cat, 
gosh  durn  it!" 

Hennessy,  however,  shook  a  positive  head. 
"That's  no  kid.  Can't  ye  see  for  yourself 
it's  noways  human?  Accordin'  to  the  Sun 
day  papers  it's  all  the  style  for  blond  dancers 
an'  society  belles  to  be  fetchin'  one  o'  them 
little  apes  about.  They're  thinkin'  if  they 

79 


LEERIE 

hang  a  bit  o'  live  ugliness  furninst,  their 
beauty  will  look  all  the  more  ravishin'." 

"Live  ugliness,"  repeated  Flanders;  then 
he  laughed.  "You've  struck  it,  Hennessy." 

Meanwhile  Francisco  Enrique  Manuel 
Machado  y  Rodriguez — Pancho,  for  short — 
and  his  mother  had  passed  into  the  hands  of 
the  sanitarium  porter.  He  had  handed  them 
on  to  the  business  office,  which  in  turn  had 
handed  them  over  to  the  superintendent. 
The  superintendent  had  shared  the  pleasure 
with  the  house  staff,  the  staff  had  retired  in 
favor  of  the  baby  specialist,  and  at  half  past 
seven  o'clock  that  night  neither  he  nor  the 
superintendent  of  nurses  had  been  able  to 
coax,  argue,  command,  or  threaten  a  nurse 
into  taking  the  case. 

"I'm  afraid  you  will  have  to  do  with  an 
undergraduate  and  make  the  best  of  it." 
Miss  Maxwell  acknowledged  her  helplessness 
with  a  faint  smile. 

But  Doctor  Fuller  shook  his  head.  "  Won't 
do.  It  means  skilled  care  and  watching  for 
days.  A  nurse  without  experience  would  be 
about  as  much  good  as  an  incubator.  Think 
if  you  dismissed  the  four  who've  refused,  you 
could  frighten  a  fifth  into  taking  it?" 

80 


THE    CHANGELING 


This  time  the  superintendent  of  nurses 
shook  her  head.  "Not  this  case.  They  all 
feel  about  it  the  same  way.  Miss  Jacobs 
tells  me  she  didn't  take  her  training  to  nurse 
monkeys." 

The  old  doctor  chuckled.  "Don't  know 
as  I  blame  her;  thought  it  was  a  new  species 
myself  when  I  first  clapped  eyes  on  it.  But 
shucks!  I've  seen  some  of  our  North  Ameri 
can  babies  look  like  Lincoln  Imps  when  they 
were  down  with  marasmus.  Give  me  a  few 
weeks  and  a  good  nurse  and  his  own  moth 
er  wouldn't  recognize — "  He  interrupted 
himself  with  a  pounding  fist  on  the  desk. 
"  Where's  Leerie?" 

"You  can't  have  her — not  this  time." 
Miss  Maxwell's  lips  became  a  fraction  more 
firm,  while  her  eyes  sharpened  into  what  her 
training  girls  had  come  to  call  her  "forceps 
expression." 

"Why  not?" 

"The  girl's  just  off  that  case  for  Doctor 
Fritz;  she's  tired  out.  Remember  she's  been 
through  three  unbroken  years  of  hospitals, 
and  we've  worked  her  on  every  hard  case 
we've  had  since  she  came  back.  I'm  going  to 
see  that  she  gets  forty-eight  hours  of  rest  now." 

81 


LEERIE 

"Let  her  have  them  next  time."  Doctor 
Fuller  put  all  his  persuasive  charm  into  the 
words.  "I  need  Leerie — some  one  who  can 
roll  up  her  sleeves  and  pitch  in.  Let  me 
have  her  just  this  once." 

But  Miss  Maxwell  was  obdurate.  "She's 
asleep  now,  and  she's  going  to  sleep  as  long 
as  she  needs  to.  I'll  give  you  Miss  Grant — 
she's  had  a  month  at  the  Maternity  at 
Rochester." 

"A  month!"  Scorn  curled  up  the  ends  of 
the  doctor's  mustache.  The  next  instant 
they  were  almost  touching  in  a  broad  grin. 
"Leerie  likes  cases  like  this — just  eats  them 
up.  I'm  going  after  her."  And  before  the 
superintendent  of  nurses  could  hold  him  he 
was  down  the  corridor  on  his  way  to  the 
nurses'  dormitory. 

Ten  minutes  later  he  was  back,  grinning 
harder  than  ever.  He  had  only  time  to 
thrust  his  head  in  the  door  and  wave  a  tri 
umphant  arm.  "She's  dressing — as  big  a 
fool  about  babies  as  I  am!  Said  she'd  slept 
a  whole  hour  and  felt  fresh  as  a  daisy. 
How's  that  for  spunk?" 

"I  call  it  nerve."  Miss  Maxwell  smiled  a 
hopeless  smile.  "What  am  I  going  to  do 

82 


THE    CHANGELING 


with  you  doctors?  You  wear  out  all  my 
best  nurses  and  you  won't  take — "  But 
Doctor  Fuller  had  fled. 

In  spite  of  his  boast  of  her,  the  baby 
specialist  saw  Sheila  O'Leary  visibly  cringe 
when  she  took  her  first  look  at  Pancho.  He 
lay  sprawling  on  his  mother's  bed  in  a  room 
littered  with  hastily  opened  bags  and  trunks 
out  of  which  had  been  pulled  clothing  of  all 
kinds  and  hues.  He  had  been  relieved  of  the 
lace  and  pink  ribbons  and  was  swathed  only 
in  shirt  and  roundabout,  his  arms  and  legs 
projected  like  licorice  sticks;  being  of  the 
same  color  and  very  nearly  the  same  thick 
ness.  He  was  dozing,  tired  out  with  the 
combination  of  much  travel,  screaming, 
shaking,  and  loss  of  breath.  So  wasted  was 
he  that  the  skin  seemed  drawn  tight  over 
temple  and  cheek-bones;  the  eyes  were  piti 
fully  sunken,  and  colorless  lips  fell  back  over 
toothless  gums. 

"How  old  is  —  it?"  Sheila  whispered  at 
last. 

"About  nine  months." 

Sheila  shuddered.  "Just  the  adorable 
age.  Ought  to  be  all  pink  cheeks,  dimples, 
and  creases — and  look  at  it!" 

83 


LEERIE 

"I  know,  but  wait.  Give  us  time  and 
we'll  get  some  of  those  things  started." 
Doctor  Fuller  wagged  his  head  by  way  of 
encouragement . 

Sheila  answered  with  a  deprecatory  shake. 
"This  time  I  don't  believe  you.  That  would 
be  a  miracle,  and  you  can  do  about  every 
thing  but  miracles.  Honestly,  it  doesn't 
seem  as  if  I  could  touch  it;  looks  about  a 
thousand  years  old  and  just  human  enough 
to  be  horrible." 

The  old  doctor  eyed  her  askance.  "Not 
going  back  on  me,  are  you?" 

"Of  course  I'm  not,  but  there's  no  use  in 
making  believe  it  will  be  any  joy-game.  I'll 
be  hating  it  every  minute  I'm  on  the  case." 

"Hate  it  as  much  as  you  like,  only  stick 
to  it.  Hello  there,  bub !"  This  to  the  brown 
atom,  who  was  opening  his  eyes. 

The  eyes  were  large  and  brown  and  as  soft 
and  appealing  as  a  baby  seal's.  For  a 
moment  they  looked  with  strange,  wondering 
intensity  at  the  two  figures  bending  over  it, 
then  with  sudden  doubling  and  undoubling 
of  fists,  a  frantic  upheaval  of  brown  legs,  the 
atom  opened  volcanically  and  poured  forth 
scream  after  scream.  It  writhed,  it  clawed 

84 


THE   CHANGELING 


the  air,  it  looked  every  whit  as  horrible  as 
Sheila  had  claimed. 

"Going  to  run?"  the  old  doctor  asked, 
anxiously. 

For  answer  Sheila  bent  down  lower  and 
picked  up  the  writhing  mass.  With  a  firm 
hand  she  braced  it  against  her  shoulder, 
patting  it  gently  and  swaying  her  body 
rhythmically  to  the  patting.  "Some  eyes 
and  some  temper!"  laughed  Sheila.  "Where's 
the  mother?" 

The  screaming  brought  the  corridor  nurse 
to  the  door.  "Where's  the  mother?"  Sheila 
repeated. 

The  corridor  nurse  pointed  to  the  strewn 
luggage  and  gave  a  contemptuous  shrug. 
"Gone  down  to  dinner  looking  like  a  bird  of 
paradise.  She  said  if  the  baby  cried  I  was  to 
stir  up  some  of  that  milk  from  that  can,  mix 
it  with  water  from  that  faucet,  put  it  in  that 
bottle,  and  feed  it  to  him."  Words  failed  to 
convey  the  outraged  disgust  in  her  voice. 

The  milk  indicated  was  condensed  milk  in 
a  half-emptied  can ;  the  bottle  was  the  regu 
lation  kind  for  babies  and  as  filthy  as  dirty 
glass  could  look.  Sheila  and  Doctor  Fuller 
exchanged  glances. 

85 


LEERIE 

"Plenty  of  fight  in  the  little  beggar  or  he 
wouldn't  be  outlasting —  The  doctor  swal 
lowed  the  remainder  of  the  sentence,  cut 
short  by  a  startled  look  on  Sheila's  face. 

The  screams  had  stopped  a  minute  before, 
and  Sheila  believed  the  atom  had  dropped 
asleep.  But  instead  of  feeling  the  tiny  body 
relax  as  a  sleeping  baby's  will,  it  was  growing 
slowly  rigid.  With  this  realization  she  strode 
to  the  bed  and  put  the  atom  down.  Before 
their  eyes  the  body  stiffened,  while  the  head 
rolled  slowly  from  side  to  side  and  under  the 
half-closed  lids  the  eyeballs  rolled  with  it. 

"Convulsions!"  announced  the  corridor 
nurse,  with  an  anxious  look  toward  the  door. 
Then,  as  a  bell  tinkled,  she  voiced  her  relief 
in  a  quick  breath.  "That's  sixty-one.  I'm 
hiking—" 

"No,  you  don't!"  The  doctor  jerked  her 
back;  he  wanted  to  shake  her.  " You'll 
hustle  some  hot  water  for  us,  and  then  you'll 
stand  by  to  hustle  some  more.  See?"  He 
was  shedding  all  unnecessary  clothing  as  he 
spoke,  and  Sheila  was  peeling  the  atom  free 
of  shirt  and  roundabout  as  fast  as  skilled 
fingers  could  move. 

It  is  a  wonderful  thing  to  watch  the  fight 

86 


THE    CHANGELING 


between  human  skill  and  death  for  the  life  of 
a  baby.  So  little  it  takes  to  swing  the  victory 
either  way,  so  close  does  it  border  on  the 
miraculous,  that  few  can  stand  and  see  with 
out  feeling  the  silent,  invisible  presence  of 
the  Nazarene.  A  life  thus  saved  seems  to 
gather  unto  itself  a  special  significance  and 
value  for  those  who  have  fought  for  it  and 
those  who  receive  it  again.  It  creates  new 
feelings  and  a  clearer  vision  in  blind,  unthink 
ing  motherhood;  it  awakens  to  a  vital  re 
sponse  hitherto  dormant  fatherhood.  And 
even  the  callous  outsider  becomes  exalted 
with  the  wonder  and  closeness  of  that  unseen 
presence. 

As  the  brown  atom  writhed  from  one  con 
vulsion  into  another,  Sheila  and  the  old  doc 
tor  worked  with  compressed  lips  and  almost 
suspended  breath;  they  worked  like  a  single 
mind  supplied  with  twice  the  usual  amount  of 
auxiliaries.  They  saw,  without  acknowledg 
ing  it,  the  gorgeous,  tropical  figure  that  came 
and  stood  half-way  between  the  door  and  the 
bed;  lips  carmined,  throat  and  cheeks  heavy 
with  powder,  jewels  covering  ears,  neck, 
fingers,  and  wrists,  she  looked  absurdly 
unreal  beside  the  nurse  in  her  uniform  and 

7  87 


LEERIE 

the  doctor  in  his  shirt-sleeves.  Occasionally 
Sheila  glanced  at  her.  If  they  won,  would 
the  mother  care?  The  question  came  back 
to  her  consciousness  again  and  again.  In 
her  own  experience  she  knew  how  often  the 
thing  one  called  motherhood  would  come  into 
actual  existence  after  a  struggle  like  this 
when  birth  itself  had  failed  to  accomplish 
anything  but  a  physical  obligation.  Believ 
ing  this,  Sheila  fought  the  harder. 

After  an  hour  the  convulsions  subsided. 
A  few  more  drops  of  brandy  were  poured 
down  the  tiny  throat,  and  slowly  the  heart 
took  up  its  regulation  work.  Sheila  wrapped 
the  atom  in  a  blanket,  put  it  back  on  the 
bed,  and  beckoned  to  the  mother. 

Curiosity  seemed  to  be  the  one  governing 
emotion  of  the  senora.  She  looked  without 
any  trace  of  grief,  and,  having  looked,  she 
spoke  impassively:  "I  theenk  eet  dead. 
Yes?" 

Doctor  Fuller,  with  perspiration  pouring 
from  him,  transfixed  her  with  a  stare. 
"No!  That  baby's  going  to  get  well  now, 
and  you're  going  to  let  Miss  O'Leary  teach 
you  how  to  take  proper  care  of  it.  Under 
stand?"  Then  clapping  his  fellow-fighter  on 

88 


THE   CHANGELING 


the  back,  he  beamed  down  upon  her.  "  Leerie, 
you're  one  grand  soldier!" 

The  monotone  of  the  gorgeous  senora 
broke  up  any  response  Sheila  might  have 
given.  "I  theenk  eet  die,  all  the  same," 
came  the  impassive  voice.  "The  padre  on 
the  ship  make  it  all  ready  for  die — I  theenk 
yes  pret'  soon." 

"  No !"    The  doctor  fairly  thundered  it  forth. 

She  stooped  and  pulled  away  a  fold  of  the 
blanket  with  the  tips  of  her  fingers.  "Eet 
look  ver'  ugly — like  eet  die.  I  theenk — all 
the  same." 

The  doctor  caught  up  his  cast-off  clothing 
and  flung  himself  out  of  the  room.  Sheila 
watched  him  go,  a  faint  smile  pulling  at  the 
corners  of  her  mouth.  Strange!  He  had 
so  evidently  reached  the  end  of  his  self- 
control,  optimism,  and  patience,  while  she 
was  just  beginning  to  find  hers.  In  the 
sweep  of  a  second  things  looked  wonderfully 
clear  and  -hopeful.  She  thought  she  could 
understand  what  was  in  the  mind  and  heart 
of  the  senora;  what  was  more  significant,  she 
thought  she  could  understand  the  reason  for 
it.  And  what  you  can  understand  you  can 
cope  with. 

89 


LEERIE 

She  watched  the  senora  searching  in  this 
trunk  and  that;  she  saw  her  jerk  forth  a 
diminutive  dress  of  embroidery  and  fluted 
lace;  while  she  thought  the  whole  thing 
through  to  the  finish  and  smiled  one  of  her 
old  inscrutable  smiles. 

"Pref  dress,"  said  the  senora.  "Plent' 
lace  and  reebon.  You  put  on  for  bury  eet— 
I  go  find  padre." 

"No,"  said  Sheila,  emphatically,  "you 
stay  here.  I'll  go  and  find  the  padre" 

She  left  them  both  in  the  charge  of  the 
corridor  nurse  and  flew  for  the  telephone. 
It  took  her  less  than  a  minute  to  get  Father 
O'Friel;  it  took  but  a  trifle  more  for  her  to 
outline  her  plan  and  bind  him  to  it.  And 
Father  O'Friel,  with  a  comprehension  to 
match  his  conscientiousness,  and  a  sense  of 
humor  to  match  them  both,  hardly  knew 
whether  to  be  shocked  or  amused. 

"Why  not  appeal  to  the  baby's  father?" 

"Realize  it  takes  a  month  for  a  letter  to 
reach  that  little  South  American  ant-hill? 
Write  now  if  you  want  to,  but  let  me  be 
trying  my  way  while  the  letter  is  traveling." 

"All  right.     But  if  it  doesn't  work—" 

"It  will.     When  my  feelings  about  any- 

90 


THE    CHANGELING 


thing  run  all  to  the  good  this  way,  I'd  bank 
anything  on  them.     Now  please  hurry." 

So  it  came  about  that  instead  of  a  burial 
service  that  night  Father  O'Friel  conducted 
an  original  and  unprecedented  adoption  cere 
mony.  Without  even  a  witness  the  senora 
signed  a  paper  which  she  showed  no  inclina 
tion  to  read  and  which  she  would  hardly 
have  understood  had  she  attempted  it.  It 
was  enough  for  her  that  she  could  give  away 
Francisco  Enrique  Manuel  Machado  y  Rod 
riguez  to  a  foolish  nurse  who  was  plainly 
anxious  to  be  bothered  with  him.  Death 
had  seemed  the  only  release  from  an  obliga 
tion  that  exhausted  and  frightened  her,  and 
from  which  neither  pleasure  nor  personal 
pride  could  be  obtained.  But  this  was  an 
other  way  mercifully  held  out  to  her,  and  she 
accepted  it  with  gratitude  and  absolute 
belief.  Eagerly  she  agreed  to  the  conditions 
Sheila  laid  down;  the  father  was  to  be  noti 
fied  and  forced  to  make  a  life  settlement  on 
the  atom ;  in  the  mean  time  she  was  to  remain 
at  the  sanitarium,  pay  all  expenses,  and  inter 
fere  in  no  way  with  the  nurse  or  the  baby. 
So  desirous  was  she  to  display  her  gratitude 
that  she  heaped  the  atom's  wardrobe — lace, 

91 


LEERIE 

ribbons,  and  embroidery — upon  Sheila,  and 
kissed  the  hem  of  Father  O'Friel's  cassock. 

"  Que  gracioso — que  magnifico!"  Then 
she  yawned  behind  her  tinted  nails.  "  I  have 
ver'  much  the  sleep.  I  find  anothaire  room 
and  make  what  you  call — la  cama"  At 
the  door  she  turned  and  cast  a  farewell 
look  upon  the  blanketed  bundle.  "Eet 
look  ver'  ugly — all  the  same  I  theenk  eet 
die." 

It  took  barely  ten  minutes  for  word  of  the 
adoption  to  reach  Doctor  Fuller,  and  it 
brought  him  running.  "Good  Lord!  Leerie, 
are  you  crazy?  Did  you  think  I  pulled  you 
out  of  bed  to-night  to  start  an  orphan-asy 
lum?  What  do  you  mean,  girl?" 

Sheila  looked  down  at  her  newly  acquired 
possession,  and  for  the  first  time  that  night 
the  strange,  luminous  look  that  was  all  her 
own,  that  had  won  for  her  her  nickname  of 
Leerie,  crept  into  her  eyes;  they  fairly 
dazzled  the  old  doctor  with  their  shining. 
"Honestly,  don't  know  myself.  Still  testing 
out  my  feelings  in  my  think  laboratory." 

"You  can't  raise  that  baby  and  keep  on 
with  your  nursing.  Too  much  responsibility, 
anyway,  for  a  young  person.  What's  more, 

92 


THE    CHANGELING 


the  mother  shouldn't  be  allowed  to  dodge  it. 
She  can  be  made  fit." 

"How  are  you  going  to  do  it?  Train  her 
with  harness  and  braces?  Or  moral  suasion 
— or  the  courts?" 

"And  I  thought  you  hated  it,  couldn't  bear 
to  touch  it,"  growled  the  baby  specialist. 

"Did.  But  that's  past  tense.  Since  I 
fought  for  it,  it's  suddenly  become  remark 
ably  precious.  And  that's  the  precise  feeling 
I'm  testing  up  in  the  lab." 

"In  the  name  of  common  sense  what  do 
you  mean,  Leerie?" 

She  patted  his  arm  soothingly.  "There, 
there.  Go  to  bed;  you're  tuckered  out. 
Leave  me  alone  for  two  months,  and  I'll  tell 
you.  And  suppose  you  write  down  that  milk 
formula  before  you  go;  he's  going  to  wake 
up  as  fighting  hungry  as  a  little  tiger-cat." 

How  the  sanitarium  took  the  news  of  the 
arrivals  and  the  rumor  of  the  adoption,  what 
they  thought  of  the  gorgeous  and  irresponsi 
ble  sefiora  and  Leerie's  latest  exploit,  does  not 
concern  the  story.  It  is  enough  to  say  that 
tongues  wagged  abundantly;  and  when 
Sheila  appeared  some  ten  days  later  in  the 
pine  grove  wheeling  a  perambulator  every 

93 


LEERIE 

one  who  was  out  and  could  manufacture  the 
flimsiest  excuse  for  her  curiosity  hurried  to 
the  carriage  and  thrust  an  inquisitive  head 
under  the  hood.  It  seemed  as  if  hundreds 
blocked  the  walk  from  the  pond  to  the 
rest-house. 

"Bad  as  a  circus  parade,"  thought  Sheila. 
"Can't  stay  here,  or  they'll  put  us  in  a  tent 
and  ask  admission."  Then  she  spied  Heri- 
nessy  coming  with  his  platter  of  bread  for 
the  swans,  and  called  to  him.  Somehow  he 
managed  to  scatter  the  crowd,  and  Sheila 
clung  to  the  sleeve  of  his  blue  jumper  as  if  it 
had  been  so  much  cork  to  a  man  overboard. 
"Listen,  Hennessy,  I  want  to  take  Pancho 
away  from  the  San.  You  and  Marm  have 
a  cozy  place,  and  it's  far  enough  away. 
There's  only  the  two  of  you.  Can't  you 
take  us  in?" 

But  Hennessy  was  likewise  thrusting  a 
head  under  the  hood.  "Honest  to  God,  Miss 
Leerie,  is  it  human?" 

"Hennessy,  don't  be  an  idiot!" 

"But  I  saw  the  face  on  it — an'  the  scratch- 
in'  it  did  the  day  it  was  fetched  in.  Does  it 
still  be  scratchin'?" 

"Sometimes."   Sheila  smiled  faintly.    "He 

94 


THE   CHANGELING 


hasn't  had  time  yet  to  forget  all  those  shak 
ings.  Well,  can  we  come?" 

Hennessy  eyed  the  perambulator  fear- 
somely.  "Have  to  ask  Marm.  Faith,  do 
ye  think,  now,  if  it  had  been  human,  its 
mother  would  have  given  it  away  same  as  if 
it  had  been  a  young  cat  or  dog  too  many  in 
the  litter?" 

"Mothers  don't  have  to  love  their  babies; 
there's  no  birth  license  to  sign,  you  know, 
with  a  love-and-cherish  clause  in  it.  Just 
come,  wanted  or  not,  and  afterward— 

But  Hennessy  was  deep  in  speculations  of 
his  own.  "Now  if  it  was  Ireland,  Miss  Lee- 
rie,  do  ye  know  what  I  would  be  thinkin'?" 

"What?" 

He  lowered  his  voice  and  looked  furtively 
over  his  shoulder.  "A  changeling!  Sure  as 
you're  born,  Miss  Leerie,  I'm  thinkin'  it's  one 
o'  them  little  black  imps  the  fairies  leave  in 
place  o'  the  real  child  they're  after  stealin'. 
I  disremember  if  they  have  the  likes  o'  that  in 
South  America,  but  that's  my  notion,  just  the 
same." 

Sheila  O'Leary  laughed  inside  and  out. 
"Hennessy,  you're  wonderful.  And  who 
but  an  Irishman  would  have  thought  of  it! 

95 


LEERIE 

A  changeling — a  most  changeable  changeling ! 
What's  the  treatment?" 

"A  good  brewin'  of  egg-shells — goose  egg 
shells  if  ye  have  'em,  hens'  if  ye  haven't. 
But  don't  ye  be  laughin' ;  'tis  a  sign  o'  black 
doin's,  an'  laughin'  might  bring  bad  luck  on 
ye." 

Sheila  sobered.  "We'll  brew  egg-shells. 
Now  hurry  home  to  Marm  and  coax  her  hard, 
Hennessy." 

Because  Sheila  O'Leary  invariably  had 
her  way  among  the  many  who  loved  and 
believed  in  her,  and  because  Hennessy  and 
Marm  Hennessy  were  numbered  conspicu 
ously  among  these,  Sheila  and  her  adopted 
moved  early  the  following  morning  into  the 
diminutive  and  immaculate  house  of  Hen 
nessy,  with  a  vine-covered  porch  in  front  and 
a  hen-yard  in  the  rear.  And  that  night  there 
was  a  plentiful  brew  of  egg-shells  on  the 
kitchen  stove,  done  in  the  most  approved 
Irish  fashion,  with  the  atom  near  by  to  inhale 
the  fumes. 

"Maybe  'twill  work,  an'  then  again  may 
be  'twon't."  Hennessy  looked  anxious. 
"Magic,  like  anything  else,  often  spoils  in 
transportatinV 

96 


THE   CHANGELING 


"Oh,  it  will  work!"  Sheila  spoke  with  con 
viction.  "And  we'll  hope  the  sefiora's  letter 
won't  travel  too  fast." 

So  the  names  of  Sheila  O'Leary  and  Fran 
cisco  Enrique  Manuel  Machado  y  Rodriguez 
were  crossed  off  the  books  of  the  sanitarium, 
and  the  gossips  saw  them  no  more.  Only 
Doctor  Fuller  and  Peter  Brooks  sought  them 
out  in  their  new  quarters,  the  doctor  to  attend 
professionally,  Peter  to  attend  to  the  dictates 
of  a  persistent  heart.  Never  a  day  went  by 
that  he  did  not  find  his  feet  trailing  the  dust 
on  the  road  to  the  house  of  Hennessy,  and 
Sheila  dropped  into  the  habit  of  watching 
for  him  from  the  vine-covered  porch  at  a 
certain  time  every  afternoon.  The  picture 
of  the  best  nurse  at  the  sanitarium  sitting  in 
a  little  old  rocker  with  the  brown  atom  kick 
ing  and  crowing  on  her  lap,  and  looking  down 
the  steps  with  eyes  that  seemed  to  grow  daily 
more  luminous,  came  to  be  an  accepted  re 
ality  to  both  Peter  and  the  doctor — as  much 
of  a  reality  as  the  reaching  out  of  the  atom's 
small  tendril-like  fingers  to  curl  about  one's 
thumb  or  to  cling  to  one's  watch-charm. 

"Loving  little  cuss,"  muttered  Peter  one 
afternoon.  "Can  you  tell  me  how  any 

97 


LEERIE 

mother  under  the  sun  could  resist  those  eyes 
or  the  clutch  of  those  brown  paws?" 

"Don't  forget  one  point,"  Sheila  spoke 
quietly;  "he  wasn't  a  loving  little  cuss  then." 

"He'll  go  down  on  the  books  as  my  pet 
case,"  chuckled  the  doctor.  "Four  pounds 
in  four  weeks !  Think  of  it,  on  a  whole-milk 
formula!" 

Hennessy  wagged  his  head  knowingly  at 
Sheila,  and  when  they  had  gone  he  snorted 
forth  his  contempt  for  professional  ignorance. 
"Milk!  Fiddlesticks!  Sure  a  docthor  don't 
know  everything.  'Twas  the  egg-shells  that 
done  it,  an"  Marm  an'  me  can  bear  witness 
he  quit  the  scratchin'  an'  began  the  smilin' 
from  that  very  hour.  Look  at  him  now! 
Can  ye  deny  it,  Miss  Leerie?" 

"I'm  not  wanting  to,  Hennessy."  Where 
upon  Sheila  proved  the  matter  by  reducing 
the  atom  to  squeals  of  joy  while  she  retold 
the  old  history  of  the  pigs  with  the  aid  of 
five  little  brown  toes. 

Between  Peter  and  Hennessy,  Sheila  came 
into  possession  of  many  facts  concerning  the 
senora.  Her  dresses  and  her  jewels  were  the 
talk  of  the  sanitarium.  She  applied  herself 
diligently  to  all  beautifying  treatments  and 

98 


THE    CHANGELING 


the  charming  of  susceptible  young  men. 
Presumably  life  to  her  meant  only  a  con 
tinuous  process  of  adorning  herself  and  re 
ceiving  admiration.  So  she  spent  her  days 
dressing  and  basking  in  the  company  of  a 
dozen  different  swains,  and  the  atom  cast  no 
annoying  shadow  on  her  pathway. 

August  came,  and  the  atom  discovered  his 
legs.  Sheila  disregarded  the  lace  and  rib 
bons  with  a  sigh  of  relief  and  took  to  making 
rompers.  They  were  adorable  rompers  with 
smocking  and  the  palest  of  pink  collars  and 
belts.  The  licorice  sticks  had  changed  to  a 
rich  olive  brown  and  had  assumed  sufficient 
rotundity  to  allow  of  pink-and-white  socks 
and  white  ankle-ties.  In  all  the  busy  years 
of  her  nursing  Sheila  had  never  had  time  for 
anything  like  this;  she  had  never  had  a 
baby  for  longer  than  a  week  or  two  at  a  time. 
Just  as  she  was  beginning  to  feel  her  individ 
ual  share  in  them  they  had  all  gone  the  way 
of  properly  parented  offspring,  and  never  had 
she  sewed  a  single  baby  dress.  She  gloried 
in  the  lengths  of  dimity  and  poplin,  in  the 
intricacies  of  new  stitches  and  embroidery. 
And  Peter,  watching  from  a  step  on  the 
porch,  gloried  in  the  picture  she  made, 

99 


LEERIE 

When  a  romper  was  finished  it  had  to  be 
tried  on  that  very  minute.  She  would  whisk 
up  the  atom  from  the  hammock  where  he  lay 
kicking,  and  slip  him  into  it,  holding  him 
high  for  Peter  to  admire. 

"He's  a  cherub  done  in  bronze,"  said  Peter, 
one  day.  "Here,  give  him  to  me."  And 
later,  as  he  perched  him  on  his  shoulder  and 
tickled  his  ribs  until  he  squirmed  with  glee 
he  announced,  "If  I  wasn't  a  homeless 
bachelor  I'd  take  him  off  your  hands  in 
about  two  minutes." 

"What's  that?"  shouted  Doctor  Fuller, 
coming  down  the  street.  "Did  you  say  any 
thing  about  re-adoption?  Well,  you  might 
as  well  know  now  that  Mrs.  Fuller  and  I  in 
tend  taking  Pancho  off  Leerie's  hands  as  soon 
as  she's  ready  to  go  back  to  work  again. 
Aren't  you  getting  lazy,  Leerie?" 

For  once  Sheila  failed  to  respond  in  kind 
to  the  doctor's  chaffing.  All  the  shine 
faded  out  of  her  eyes.  "Can't  believe  two 
months  have  gone — a  month  for  a  letter  to 
go,  a  month  for  an  answer  to  come.  I'm 
afraid  none  of  us  will  keep  him  very  much 
longer." 

"Don't  worry,  they  won't  want  him  back. 
100 


Holding  him  high  for  Peter  to  admire 


THE   CHANGELING 


Besides,  they've  forfeited  their  right  to  him," 
the  old  doctor  snorted,  indignantly. 

"Not  legally.  When  the  letter  comes, 
you'll  see."  There  was  none  of  the  antici 
pated  delight  in  Sheila's  voice  that  had  been 
there  on  that  first  night  when  she  had  laid 
her  plans  and  sworn  Father  O'Friel  into  back 
ing  her  up.  Her  voice  was  as  colorless  as  her 
eyes  were  dull;  for  some  miraculous  reason 
the  life  and  inner  light  that  seemed  such  an 
inseparable  part  of  her  had  suddenly  gone 
out.  She  reached  up  and  removed  the  atom 
from  Peter's  shoulder. 

Hennessy,  who  had  joined  the  group,  was 
the  last  to  speak.  "  Sure  it's  mortial  good  of 
both  ye  gentlemen  to  lift  the  throuble  o* 
raisin'  the  wee  one  off  Miss  Leerie,  but  if  any 
one  lifts  it,  it's  Marm  an'  me.  We  had  that 
settled  the  next  morning  after  we  fetched  him 
over  an'  knew  'twas  the  real  one  we'd  got, 
after  all." 

"The  real  one?  What  do  you  mean  by 
that?"  The  doctor  looked  puzzled. 

Hennessy  winked  his  only  answer. 

Through  the  first  days  of  September  Sheila 
waited  with  feverish  anxiety.  The  hours 

spent  on  the  vine -covered  porch  with  the 

101 


LEERIE 

atom,  asleep  or  awake,  for  steady  company, 
and  Peter  for  occasional,  passed  all  too 
quickly.  For  the  first  time  in  her  life  Sheila 
wished  days  back;  she  would  have  put  a 
checking  hand  on  time  had  she  had  the  power. 
Then  just  as  she  was  making  up  her  mind 
that  her  fear  was  for  nothing,  that  her  plans 
had  gloriously  failed  and  Pancho  was  to  be 
hers  for  all  time,  the  wretched  news  came. 
Peter  brought  it,  hurrying  hatless  down  the 
street,  and  Sheila,  knowing  in  her  heart  what 
had  happened,  went  down  the  steps  to  meet 
him. 

"Is  it  a  letter — or  a  wire — or  what?  And 
where's  the  senora?" 

"Having  hysterics  in  front  of  the  business 
office."  Peter  stopped  to  get  his  breath. 
"The  husband  wired  from  New  York — he'll 
be  down  on  the  morning  train.  It  seems  the 
senora  wired  him  when  she  first  got  here  that 
Pancho  was  dying,  so  she  didn't  see  any  need 
of  changing  it  in  her  letter.  She  said  she 
v/anted  the  money  for  a  monument  and 
masses — and  he  could  send  it  in  a  draft. 
Guess  he  thought  more  of  the  boy  than  the 
mother  did,  for  he's  come  up  to  bring  the 
body  home  and  put  up  the  monument  down 

102 


THE    CHANGELING 


there.  Now  she  doesn't  know  what  to  tell 
him.  Can  you  beat  that  for  straight  fiction?" 

Sheila  picked  up  the  atom  and  disappeared 
inside  without  a  word.  When  she  reap 
peared  a  few  minutes  later,  the  atom  was 
arrayed  in  his  most  becoming  romper,  his 
black  curls  were  brushed  into  an  encircling 
halo,  his  hands  clapping  over  some  conscious 
ness  of  pleasurable  excitement.  Sheila  tucked 
him  into  his  carriage  and  faced  Peter  with  a 
grim  look  of  command.  "You're  to  play 
policeman,  understand!  Walk  back  of  me 
all  the  way.  If  I  show  any  sign  of  turning 
back  or  running  away,  arrest  me  on  the 
spot." 

"What  are  you  going  to  do?" 

"What  two  months  ago  I  thought  would 
be  the  easiest  thing  in  the  world — and  what  I 
v/ouldn't  be  doing  now  for  a  million  dollars  if 
I  hadn't  given  my  word  to  Father  O'Friel  and 
the  law  wasn't  against  me." 

As  Peter  had  rightfully  reported,  the  senora 
was  having  hysterics  in  front  of  the  business 
office,  with  the  business  and  hospital  staff 
trying  their  best  to  quench  her,  and  as  many 
patients  as  the  lobby  would  hold  watching  in 
varying  degrees  of  curiosity.  Only  one  of 

8  103 


LEERIE 

Latin  blood  could  have  achieved  a  scene  of 
such  melodramatic  abandon  and  stamped  it 
as  genuine,  but  no  one  present  doubted  the 
grief  and  despair  of  the  senora  as  she  paced 
the  floor  wringing  her  hands  and  wailing  in 
her  native  tongue.  Sheila  entered  by  way 
of  the  basement  and  the  lift,  and  she  wheeled 
the  atom's  carriage  into  the  inner  circle  of 
the  crowd,  with  Peter  still  in  attendance. 

For  the  moment  the  interest  swerved  from 
the  weeping  figure  to  the  cooing  occupant  of 
the  carriage.  The  atom  was  still  clapping  his 
hands,  and  a  pink  flush  of  excitement  tinged 
the  olive  of  the  cheeks.  "Look  at  that  cun 
ning  baby!"  .  .  .  "Isn't  he  a  darling?"  .  .  . 
"Why,  isn't  that  the  South  American  baby?" 
.  .  .  "Sh-h-h — deformed  or  something.".  .  . 
"Of  course,  it  can't  be."  Sentences,  whole 
and  in  fragments,  came  to  Sheila  as  she 
pushed  her  way  through  the  crowd. 

Something  of  this  new  interest  must  have 
penetrated  the  senora's  consciousness,  for 
her  wailing  ceased;  she  cocked  her  head  on 
one  side  like  a  listening  parrakeet.  "Who 
say  babee?  I  theenk — I  theenk — "  Then 
she  saw  Sheila.  A  look  of  immediate  recog 
nition  swept  over  her  face,  but  it  was  gone 


THE   CHANGELING 


the  instant  she  looked  at  the  atom.  "Who 
that  babee?"  she  demanded. 

"Mine."  Sheila  pinned  her  with  steady 
eyes,  while  her  mouth  looked  as  if  it  could 
never  grow  gentle  and  demure  again. 

Incredulity,  suspicion,  amazement,  were  all 
registered  on  the  pretty,  shallow  face.  "  Your 
babee?  How  you  get  babee?" 

Sheila  made  no  answer. 

The  senora  looked  again  at  the  atom;  she 
held  out  a  timorous  finger  to  him.  He  re 
sponded  cordially  by  curling  a  small  fist 
promptly  about  it.  "Mad re  de  Dios,  que 
bonito!  Que  chico  y  hermoso/"  Then, 
to  Sheila:  "I  give  you  seeck  babee — eet  no 
die?  You  make  thees  babee  out  of  seeck 
babee,  yes?" 

Sheila  still  remained  silent. 

The  senora  turned  to  the  atom  for  the  con 
firmation  she  desired.  "Nene,  como  te 
llamas?'' 

It  was  intensely  entertaining  to  the  atom. 
He  wagged  the  senora's  finger  frantically, 
tossed  back  his  head,  and  gave  forth  a  low, 
gurgling  laugh.  "  Jesu!  That  ees  hees  papa. 
He  look  like  that  when  he  laugh.  Tu  nom- 
bre,  nene — tu  rzombre?"  With  a  fresh 

105 


LEERIE 

outburst  she  sank  down  beside  the  carriage 
and  buried  her  face  in  the  brown  legs  and  pink 
socks. 

But  the  atom  did  not  approve  of  this.  His 
lower  lip  dropped  and  quivered;  he  reached 
out  his  arm  to  Sheila.  "Ma-ma-ma-ma,"  he 
coaxed. 

"You  no  ma-ma,  I  ma-ma."  The  sefiora 
was  on  her  feet,  shaking  an  angry  fist  at 
Sheila.  But  in  an  instant  her  anger  was 
gone;  she  was  down  on  her  knees  again, 
clasping  Sheila's  skirt,  while  her  voice  wailed 
forth  in  supplication.  "You  no  keep  leetle 
babee?  You  ver'  good,  ver'  kind,  sefiorita — 
you  muy  simpatica,  yes?  You  give  leetle 
babee.  I  ma-ma.  Yes?" 

But  Sheila  O'Leary  stood  grim  and  un 
yielding.  "No.  He  is  mine.  When  he  was 
sick,  dying,  you  didn't  want  him.  You  did 
not  like  to  look  at  him  because  he  was  ugly; 
you  did  not  like  to  hear  him  cry — so  you 
abused  him.  Now,  he's  all  well;  he's  a 
pretty  baby;  he  does  not  cry;  he  does  not 
scratch.  I  never  shake  him;  he  loves  me 
very,  very  much.  Now  I  keep  himl"  Thus 
Sheila  delivered  her  ultimatum. 

But  the  senora  still  clung.     "I  no  shake 

106 


THE   CHANGELING 


babee  now.  I  love  babee  now.  Please — 
please — his  pa-pa  come.  You  give  heem 
back?" 

Sheila  unclasped  the  senora's  hands,  turned 
the  atom's  carriage  about,  and  deliberately 
wheeled  him  away. 

Out  of  the  lobby  to  the  sidewalk  she  was 
pursued  by  pleading  cries,  expostulating  re 
proofs,  as  well  as  actual  particles  of  the 
crowd  itself,  the  Reverend  Mr.  Grumble,  the 
wife  of  one  of  the  trustees,  a  handful  of  pro 
testing  patients,  following  to  urge  the  rights 
of  the  prostrated  mother.  But  Sheila  re 
fused  to  be  held  back  or  argued  with; 
stoically  she  kept  on  her  way.  When  she 
reached  the  little  vine-covered  porch  only 
Peter,  Father  O'Friel,  and  Doctor  Fuller 
remained  as  escort. 

"You  can't  keep  him,  Leerie.  YouVe  got 
to  give  him  up."  The  old  doctor  spoke 
sorrowfully  but  firmly. 

''It  was  only  a  mock  adoption,  and  you 
promised  if  she  ever  wanted  him  back  she 
should  have  him,"  Father  O'Friel  reminded 
her. 

"She's  his  mother,  after  all,"  Peter  put  in, 
lamely. 

107 


LEERIE 

At  that  Sheila  exploded.  "  You  men  make 
me  tired!  'She's  his  mother,  after  all.' 
After  all  what?  Cruelty,  neglect,  heartless- 
ness,  hoping  he  would  die — glad  to  be  rid  of 
him!  That's  about  all  the  sense  of  justice 
you  have.  Let  a  woman  weep  and  call  for 
her  baby,  and  every  man  within  earshot 
would  hand  him  over  without  considering 
for  a  moment  what  kind  of  care  she  would 
give  him.  Oh,  you — make — me — sick!'* 
Sheila  buried  her  face  in  the  nape  of  Pancho's 
neck. 

Doctor  Fuller,  who  had  always  known  her, 
who  had  stood  by  her  in  her  disgrace  when 
she  had  been  sent  away  from  the  sanitarium 
three  years  before  and  had  believed  in  her 
implicitly  in  spite  of  all  damning  evidence, 
who  had  fought  for  her  a  dozen  times  when 
she  had  called  down  upon  her  head  the  wrath 
of  the  business  office,  looked  now  upon  her 
silent,  shaking  figure  with  open-mouthed 
astonishment.  In  all  those  years  he  had 
never  seen  Leerie  cry,  and  he  couldn't  quite 
stand  it. 

"There,  there,  child!  We  understand— 
we're  not  quite  the  duffers  you  make  us  out. 
Of  course,  by  all  rights,  human  and  moral, 

108 


THE   CHANGELING 


the  little  shaver  belongs  to  you, '  but  you 
can't  keep  him,  just  the  same." 

"Know  it!  Needn't  rub  it  in!  Wasn't 
going  to!"  Sheila  raised  a  wet  face,  with 
red-rimmed  eyes  and  lips  that  trembled  out 
rageously.  She  couldn't  steady  them  to  save 
her,  and  so  she  let  them  tremble  while  she 
stuttered  forth  her  last  protest.  "Didn't 
think  for  a  moment  I  wouldn't  give  him  back, 
d-d-did  you?  That  was  my  plan — my  way. 
I  wanted  Father  O'Friel  to  let  me  try — t-t-t- 
thought  all  along  he'd  grow  into  such  an  ad- 
d-d-dorable  mite  his  m-m-m-mother'd  be 
wanting  him  back.  What  I  didn't  count  on 
was  my  wanting  to  k-k-keep  him."  Sheila 
swallowed  hard.  She  wanted  to  get  rid  of 
that  everlasting  choke  in  her  throat.  When 
she  spoke  again  her  voice  was  steadier. 
"But  I  tell  you  one  thing.  She  doesn't  get 
him  without  fighting  for  him.  She's  going  to 
fight  for  him  as  I  fought  that  night  in  the 
sanitarium,  and  you're  going  to  help  me  keep 
her  fighting.  Understand?  Then  perhaps 
when  she  gets  him  she'll  have  some  faint  no 
tion  of  how  precious  a  baby  can  be."  With  a 
more  grim  expression  than  any  of  the  three 
had  ever  seen  on  her  usually  luminous  face, 

109 


LEERIE 

Sheila  O'Leary  shouldered  the  atom  and  dis 
appeared  within  the  house. 

The  three  men  stood  by  her  while  Hennessy 
guarded  the  house.  For  the  rest  of  the  day 
the  senora,  backed  by  the  business  office  and 
a  procession  of  interested  sympathizers, 
stormed  the  parish  house  and  demanded  to 
see  the  paper  that  she  had  signed.  They 
stormed  Doctor  Fuller's  office  and  demanded 
his  co-operation,  or  at  least  what  information 
he  had  to  give.  They  consulted  the  one 
lawyer  in  the  town  and  three  others  within 
car  distance,  but  their  advice  availed  little, 
inasmuch  as  Father  O'Friel  had  refused  to 
give  up  the  paper  until  the  baby's  father 
arrived,  and  they  could  get  no  intelligent 
idea  from  the  senora  of  how  legal  the  adop 
tion  had  been  made.  By  keeping  perfectly 
dumb  the  three  were  able  to  hold  the  crowd 
in  abeyance,  and  the  senora,  looking  any 
thing  but  a  bird  of  paradise,  came  back  to 
them  again  and  again  to  weep,  to  plead,  to 
bribe. 

The  excitement  held  until  midnight,  an  un 
precedented  occurrence  for  the  sanitarium. 
It  was  still  dark  the  next  morning  when  Hen 
nessy  was  roused  from  the  haircloth  sofa  in 

no 


THE    CHANGELING 


the  hall,  where  he  was  still  keeping  guard,  by 
the  fumbling  of  a  hand  on  the  door-knob. 
''Who's  there?"  roared  Hennessy. 

"Please — eet  ees  me — the  Senora  Machado 
y  Rodriguez." 

"Go 'way!  Shoo-oo!"  Hennessy  banged 
the  door  with  his  fist  as  he  always  banged  the 
bread-platter  to  scatter  the  swans. 

"I  go  when  I  see  babee,"  came  the  feeble 
response  to  his  racket. 

"Let  her  in,  Hennessy,"  came  the  voice  of 
Sheila  from  up-stairs. 

Hennessy  unbarred  the  door,  and  a  shaken, 
pathetic  little  figure  crept  in.  All  the  coy 
prettiness  was  gone  for  the  moment;  the 
swollen  eyes  had  circles  about  them,  the 
cheeks  were  sallow  and  free  of  powder  as  the 
lips  were  free  of  carmine.  The  mouth  quiv 
ered  like  a  grief-stricken  child's.  "Please 
— please — I  see  babee?"  came  the  wail  again. 

"Yes.  Come  up  softly,"  Sheila  called 
from  the  head  of  the  stairs. 

The  little  figure  crept  up  eagerly.  Sheila 
put  out  an  arm  and  led  her  into  a  room  where 
a  single  candle  burned  beside  the  bed.  There 
lay  the  atom,  rosy  and  dimpling  in  his  sleep. 

It  is  to  be  doubted  if  the  sefiora  had  ever 
in 


LEERIE 

dreamed  of  such  a  possession  after  the  ap 
palling  reality  of  the  original  Francisco 
Enrique  Manuel  Machado  y  Rodriguez.  In 
her  ignorance  and  youth  she  had  accepted 
ugliness,  sickness,  and  peevish  crying  as  the 
normal  attributes  of  babyhood,  and  because 
of  this  she  had  loathed  it.  Therefore  to  be 
suddenly  confronted  with  her  awful  mistake, 
to  find  that  she  had  thrown  away  something 
that  was  beautiful  and  enchanting,  to  know 
she  had  forfeited  what  might  have  been  hers, 
to  feel  in  a  small  degree  the  first  longing  of 
motherhood  and  be  denied  it — all  this  was 
born  into  the  slowly  awakening  consciousness 
of  the  senora.  It  almost  transformed  her 
face  into  homely  holiness  as  she  made  her 
one  supreme  prayer  and  sacrifice.  "You 
give  me  my  babee — now — you  give  heem  and 
not  keep — and  I  give  you  all  these.  See?" 
She  held  out  her  hands  that  had  been  clasped 
under  the  heavy  mantilla  that  covered  her 
head  and  shoulders.  Opening  them,  she 
thrust  them  close,  that  Sheila  might  look. 
They  were  filled  with  jewels — the  jewels  she 
adored,  that  had  contributed  a  large  part  to 
the  joy  of  her  existence.  Pins,  rings,  neck 
laces,  bracelets  —  the  senora  had  not  kept 

112 


THE    CHANGELING 


back  a  single  ornament.  "You  —  you  and 
the  blessed  Maria  will  give  heem  back  to 
me?" 

"Get  down  and  pray  to  the  Maria,"  com 
manded  Sheila.  "Promise  her  that  if  she 
will  give  your  baby  back  to  you  you  will 
take  care  of  him  for  ever  and  ever.  Never 
neglect  him,  never  shake  nor  slap  him,  never 
give  him  bad  milk  to  make  him  sick.  Prom 
ise  you'll  always  love  him  and  keep  him 
laughing  and  pretty.  And  remember — break 
your  promise,  let  anything  happen  to  Pancho 
again,  and  Maria  will  not  give  him  back  to 
you  another  time." 

The  sanitarium  never  learned  in  detail  how 
Senor  Machado  became  reconciled  to  a  live 
son,  not  being  present  when  the  news  was 
conveyed  to  him.  They  saw  him  arrive, 
however,  looking  very  much  shaken  with  his 
bereavement,  and  they  saw  him  depart  with 
his  son  perched  high  upon  his  shoulder,wear- 
ing  the  expression  of  one  who  has  come  unex 
pectedly  into  a  great  possession,  while  the 
senora  clung  to  them  both.  The  sanitarium 
waved  them  off  with  gladness  and  satisfac 
tion — all  but  four  unsmiling  outsiders.  So 
great  a  hole  can  a  departing  atom  sometimes 

113 


LEERIE 

leave  behind  that  those  four  who  had  given 
him  temporary  care  and  guardianship  went 
about  for  days  with  sorrow  written  plainly 
upon  them.  Hennessy  fed  the  swans  in 
bitter  silence;  Peter  moped,  with  a  laugh  for 
no  one;  Doctor  Fuller  groaned  whenever 
South  America  was  mentioned ;  while  all  three 
knew  they  could  not  even  fathom  the  deep 
ness  or  the  bigness  of  that  hole  for  Sheila. 

Peter  took  her  for  a  twilight  ride  in  his  car 
the  first  empty  night.  "  Go  on  and  cry  it  out 
—I  sha'n't  mind,"  he  urged  as  he  speeded  the 
car  along  a  country  road. 

Sheila  smiled  faintly.  "Thank  you — can't. 
Just  feel  bruised  and  banged  all  over — feel  as 
if  I  needed  a  plunge  in  that  old  pool  of 
Bethesda." 

They  spun  on  in  silence  for  a  few  miles 
more  before  Sheila  spoke  again.  "I  learned 
one  wonderful  thing  from  Pancho — some 
thing  I  never  felt  sure  of  before." 

"What  was  that?" 

"Sorry — can't  tell.  It's  the  sort  of  thing 
you  tell  only  the  man  you  marry,  after  you've 
discovered  he's  the  only  man  you  ever  could 
have  married." 

Peter  speeded  the  car  ahead  and  smiled 

114 


THE    CHANGELING 


quietly  into  the  gathering  darkness.  Fortu 
nately  he  was  not  an  impatient  man. 

There  is  one  point  concerning  the  atom 
that  Hennessy  and  Doctor  Fuller  still  wrangle 
over,  neither  of  them  having  the  slightest 
conception  of  the  other's  point  of  view. 

"That  was  a  case  of  good  nursing  and 
milk,"  the  old  doctor  persists. 

While  Hennessy  beats  the  air  with  his  fists 
and  shouts:  "Nothing  of  the  sort!  'Twas 
egg-shells  that  done  it." 


Chapter  IV 

FOR  THE   HONOR  OF   THE  SAN 

PETER  BROOKS  paced  the  sanitarium 
grounds  like  a  man  possessed.  Hands 
thrust  deep  into  pockets,  teeth  hard  clenched, 
head  bare,  the  raw  October  wind  ruffling  his 
heavy  crop  of  hair  like  a  cock's  comb.  So 
suggestive  was  the  resemblance  that  Hen- 
nessy,  watching  him  from  the  willow  stump 
by  the  pond,  was  forced  to  remark  to  Brian 
Boru,  the  gray  swan,  that  Mr.  Peter  looked 
like  a  young  rooster,  after  growing  his  spurs, 
looking  for  his  first  fight. 

"Aye,  an'  for  one  I'm  wishin'  he'd  be 
fmdin'  it,"  continued  Hennessy.  "He's  bided 
peaceful  an'  patient  till  there  is  no  virtue 
left  in  him.  Ye  can  make  believe  women  be 
civilized  if  ye  like,  but  I'm  knowin'  that  a 
woman's  sure  to  go  to  the  man  that  fights  the 
hardest  to  get  her,  same  as  it  was  in  the  sav 
age  day  o'  the  world.  An'  there's  nothing 

116 


FOR   THE   HONOR   OF   THE   SAN 

that  sets  a  man  right  quicker  with  himself 
than  a  good  fight,  tongues  or  fists." 

At  that  moment  Peter  would  have  gladly 
chosen  either  or  both  if  fate  could  only  have 
furnished  him  with  a  legitimate  combatant. 
But  a  man  cannot  fight  gossipy  old  ladies  or 
jealous,  petty-minded  nurses,  or  a  doctor 
whom  he  has  never  met  and  whose  trans 
gressions  he  cannot  swear  to.  And  yet  Peter 
wanted  to  double  up  his  fists  and  pitch  into 
the  whole  community;  he  felt  himself  all 
brute  and  yearned  for  wholesale  slaughter. 

Peter  had  come  to  the  sanitarium  in  the 
beginning  to  be  cured  of  a  temporal  malady, 
only  to  rise  from  his  bed  stricken  with  an 
eternal  one.  He  had  fallen  desperately  in 
love  with  Sheila  O'Leary  as  only  a  man  of 
Peter's  sort  can  fall  in  love,  once  and  for  all 
time.  Moreover,  he  believed  in  her  as  a  man 
believes  in  the  best  and  purest  that  is  likely 
to  come  into  his  life.  On  the  day  of  his  con 
valescing,  when  she  had  been  transferred 
from  his  case  to  another,  he  had  sworn  that 
he  would  not  stir  foot  from  the  old  San  until 
he  had  won  her.  He  had  kept  his  word  for 
four  months.  He  would  have  been  content 
to  keep  it  for  four  more — or  for  four  years,  for 

117 


LEERIE 

that  matter — had  everything  not  turned  sud 
denly  topsy-turvy  and  sent  his  world  of  hopes 
crashing  down  about  him. 

For  four  months  he  had  shared  as  much  of 
Sheila's  life  and  work  as  she  would  allow. 
He  had  let  himself  drift  into  the  role  of  a  com 
fortable  and  sympathetic  companion  when 
ever  her  hours  for  recreation  gave  him  a 
chance.  His  love  had  grown  as  his  admira 
tion  and  understanding  of  her  had  grown, 
until  she  had  come  to  seem  as  necessary  a 
part  of  his  life  as  the  air  he  breathed.  Then 
he  had  been  able  to  smile  whimsically  at  those 
gossipy  tales.  What  if  she  had  been  sus 
pended  and  sent  away  from  the  sanitarium? 
What  if  she  had  broken  through  some  of  the 
tight-laced  rules  with  which  all  institutions 
of  this  kind  hedge  in  their  nurses?  Sheila's 
proclivity  for  breaking  rules  was  a  byword 
among  the  many  who  loved  her,  and  the 
head  of  the  institution,  the  superintendent  of 
nurses,  the  entire  staff  of  doctors,  down  to 
Hennessy,  the  keeper  of  the  walks  and  swans, 
only  smiled  and  closed  their  eyes  to  all  of 
Sheila's  backsliding.  For  hadn't  they  all 
believed  in  her?  And  hadn't  they  sent  for 
her  to  come  back  to  them  again?  And 

118 


-  FOR   THE   HONOR   OF   THE   SAN 

which  one  of  them  had  ever  allowed  a  word  of 
scandal  to  pass  his  lips?  So  Peter  smiled, 
too. 

In  those  months  he  had  come  to  read 
Sheila — so  he  thought — like  an  open  book. 
He  had  learned  by  heart  all  her  moods,  the 
good  and  the  bad,  the  sweet  and  the  bitter. 
He  knew  she  could  be  as  divinely  tender  and 
compassionate  as  a  celestial  mother;  he  also 
knew  that  she  could  be  as  barren  of  sym 
pathy  and  as  relentless  as  fate  itself.  She 
could  pour  forth  her  whole  throbbing  soul, 
impulsive,  warm,  and  radiant,  as  a  true  Celt, 
yet  she  could  be  as  impersonal,  terse,  and 
cryptic  as  a  marconigram.  He  loved  these 
very  extremes  in  her,  her  unmitigated  hatred 
for  the  things  she  hated,  and  her  unfailing 
love  for  the  things  she  loved.  She  made  no 
pretense  or  boast  for  herself;  she  was  what 
she  was  for  all  the  world  to  see.  And  Peter 
had  found  her  the  stanchest,  sweetest,  most 
vital — albeit  the  most  stubborn — piece  of 
womanhood  he  had  ever  known.  Her  very 
nickname  of  "Leerie"  was  her  open  letter  of 
introduction  to  every  one;  her  smile  and  the 
wonder-light  in  her  eyes  were  her  best  cre 
dentials.  Small  wonder  it  was  that  her 

9  119 


LEERIE 

patients  watched  for  her  to  come  and  that 
Peter  felt  he  could  snap  his  fingers  at  the 
scandalmongers. 

But  Peter  wasn't  snapping  them  now — or 
smiling.  His  fists  were  doubled  tight  in  his 
pockets,  and  he  clenched  his  teeth  harder 
as  he  paced  the  walk  from  pond  to  rest-house. 
How  the  accursed  tongues  of  the  gossips  rang 
in  his  head!  "Rather  odd  the  sanitarium 
should  have  sent  for  him,  wasn't  it?  Don't 
you  know  he  was  the  young  surgeon  who  was 
mixed  up  in  that  affair  with  that  popular 
nurse?"  .  .  .  "Oh  yes,  they  hushed  it  up 
and  sent  them  both  away."  .  .  .  "Nothing 
definite  was  ever  explained,  but  they  were 
always  together,  just  as  they  are  now,  and 
you  can't  get  smoke  without  some  burn 
ing."  .  .  .  "Yes,  Doctor  Brainard  and  Miss 
O'Leary.  Didn't  you  ever  hear  about  what 
happened  three  years  ago?" 

Peter's  stride  seemed  to  measure  forth  the 
length  of  each  offending  tongue,  and  when 
he  reached  the  end  of  his  beaten  track  he 
swung  about  as  if  to  meet  and  silence  them 
all,  for  all  time.  But  instead  he  came  face 
to  face  with  the  two  who  had  caused  them  to 

wag.     So  absorbed   were  the   surgeon   and 

120 


FOR   THE   HONOR  OF  THE   SAN 

nurse  in  what  they  had  to  say  to  each  other 
that  they  brushed  by  Peter  without  seeing 
him.  He  might  have  been  one  of  the  rustic 
posts  of  the  rest-house  or  the  pine-tree  grow 
ing  close  by.  As  they  passed,  Peter  scanned 
narrowly  the  half-averted  face  of  the  girl  he 
loved  and  found  it  pitifully  changed  in  those 
few  days.  The  luminous  light  had  gone  from 
her  eyes;  her  lips  no  longer  curved  to  the 
gracious,  demure  smile  Peter  had  always 
called  "cloistered."  They  were  set  to  grim 
determination,  as  if  the  girl  had  gripped  fast 
to  a  purpose  and  no  amount  of  shaking  or  per 
suasion  would  induce  her  to  let  go.  Her 
eyes  were  circled  and  anxious.  Peter  groaned 
unconsciously  at  his  glimpse  of  her,  while 
Hennessy  from  his  vantage  -  point  on  the 
stump  shook  a  vengeful  fist  at  the  retreating 
back  of  the  surgeon. 

"A  million  curses  on  him!"  muttered 
Hennessy,  his  lips  tight  shirred.  "Sure,  the 
lass  has  the  look  of  a  soul  possessed."  The 
next  instant  his  fist  was  descending  not  over- 
mercifully  on  Peter's  back.  "First  I'm 
cursin'  frim  an'  then  I'm  cursin'  ye.  For  the 
love  o'  Saint  Patrick,  are  ye  goin'  to  stand 

round  like  a  blitherin'  fool  an'  see  that  rascal 

121 


LEERIE 

of  a  docthor  do  harm  again  to  our  lass?  I'll 
come  mortial  close  to  wringin'  your  neck  if 
ye  do." 

Peter  glared  at  his  erstwhile  friend  and 
fellow-philosopher.  "You're  the  fool,  Hen- 
nessy.  What  under  heaven  can  I  do?  What 
could  any  man  do  in  my  place?" 

"Fight  for  her.  Can't  you  see  the  man 
has  her  possessed?  What  an'  how  Hennessy 
hasn't  the  wits  to  make  out,  but  ye  have. 
Search  out  her  throuble  same  as  she  searched 
out  yours,  an'  make  her  whole  an'  sweet  an' 
shinin'  again."  Hennessy  laid  two  gnarled, 
brown  hands  on  Peter's  shoulder  while  he 
peered  up  at  him  with  eyes  full  of  ap 
peal.  "Ye've  heard  naught  to  shake  your 
faith  in  the  lass?  Ye  believe  in  her— 
aye?" 

"Good  God!  man,  of  course  I  believe  in 
her!  I'd  believe  in  her  if  all  the  tongues  in 
the  world  wagged  till  doomsday.  But  what 
else  can  I  do?  Hang  around  this  old  hotbed 
of  gossip  and  listen  and  listen,  powerless  to 
cram  the  truth  down  their  throats  because  I 
don't  know  it?"  Peter  shot  out  a  sudden 
hand  and  gripped  Hennessy's.  "For  the 
love  of  your  blessed  Saint  Patrick,  stand  up 

122 


FOR   THE   HONOR   OF   THE   SAN 

like  a  man  there,  Hennessy,  and  tell  me  what 
was  the  truth?" 

For  a  moment  Hennessy 's  eyes  shifted; 
he  whistled  his  breath  in  and  out  in  staccato 
jerks;  then  his  gaze  came  back  to  Peter  and 
he  eyed  him  steadily.  "Son,  I'm  knowin'  no 
more  than  when  I  first  saw  ye." 

"You  believe  in  her?" 

Hennessy  pulled  his  hand  free  and  shook 
his  fist  in  Peter's  face.  "Bad  scran  to  ye 
for  thinkin'  aught  else.  'Tis  God's  truth  I'm 
tellin'  ye,  Mr.  Peter.  I'm  knowin'  no  more 
than  them  blitherin'  tongues  say,  but  I'd 
pray  our  lass  into  heaven  wi'  my  dyin' 
breath  if  I  could." 

Peter  smiled.  "You'd  be  doing  better  to 
pray  her  out  of  this  miserable  little  purga 
tory  right  here.  If  she  belonged  to  me, 
Hennessy — " 

"I  wish  to  God  she  did,  sir!  But  that's 
what  ye  can  fight  for — make  her  belong." 

"Easier  said  than  done.  Since  Doctor 
Brainard  came  I  can't  get  her  to  see  me. 
Read  that!"  Peter  pulled  out  of  his  pocket 
a  tiny  folded  note  and  handed  it  to  the  swan- 
keeper.  It  was  deciphered  with  much  labor 
and  read  with  troubled  seriousness. 

123 


LEERIE 

Dear  Mr.  Brooks: 

Thank  you  for  the  flowers,  and  the  candy,  and 
the  many  offers  of  the  car,  but  I  haven't  time  to 
enjoy  any  of  these  things  just  now.  So  please  don't 
send  me  any  more,  or  write,  or  try  to  see  me.  I 
think  it  would  be  better  for  every  one,  and  far  hap 
pier  in  the  end  for  you,  if  you  would  go  back  to  your 
work  as  soon  as  possible. 

Faithfully  yours, 

SHEILA  O'LEARY. 

Hennessy  snorted.  "So  that's  what  she 
thinks,  is  it?  Well,  don't  ye  do  it.  'Twas 
betther  advice  I  gave  ye  myself;  hold  fast 
here  an'  fight  for  her.  Mind  that!"  And 
with  a  farewell  pull  of  his  forelock  Hennessy 
left  him. 

Peter  watched  him  for  an  instant,  then 
with  a  new  purpose  full-born  in  his  mind  he 
turned  and  walked  swiftly  back  to  the  sani 
tarium.  He  knew  why  the  management  had 
sent  for  Brainard  to  come  back  to  the  San. 
The  head  surgeon  had  been  taken  with  ty 
phoid;  the  wards  were  full  of  his  special 
operative  cases,  and  Brainard,  who  had 
trained  under  him,  was  the  most  skilful  man 
available  to  take  his  place.  But  why  had 
they  put  Sheila  O'Leary  on  as  his  surgical 
nurse?  Why  had  they  done  this  thing  that 

124 


FOR   THE   HONOR   OF   THE   SAN 

was  bound  to  revive  the  old  scandal  and  set 
tongues  wagging  anew?  Peter  knew  that 
upon  the  answer  to  this  depended  his  de 
cision.  Would  he  take  Sheila's  advice  and 
go,  or  Hennessy's  advice  and  fight? 

He  went  directly  to  the  office  of  the  super 
intendent  of  nurses,  and,  finding  the  door  well 
ajar,  he  entered  without  knocking.  Miss 
Maxwell  was  seated  at  her  desk.  Across  the 
desk,  with  clasped  hands,  cheeks  aflame, 
and  lips  compressed  into  a  look  of  even 
greater  determination  than  Peter  had  seen 
there  a  few  minutes  before,  leaned  Sheila 
O'Leary. 

Peter  colored  at  his  unintentional  intru 
sion.  "Excuse  me,"  he  stammered.  "Not 
hearing  voices,  I  thought  you  were  alone. 
I'll  come  again  later,  Miss  Maxwell,"  and  he 
turned  toward  the  door. 

Leerie's  voice  called  him  back.  "  Don't  go 
— want  you.  Something  I  was  trying  to 
get  Miss  Max  to  promise." 

This  time  Miss  Maxwell  colored.  "It's 
against  rules,  Leerie,  to  talk  over  hospital 
matters  before  patients,  even  as  discreet  a 
one  as  Mr.  Brooks." 

"I  know — can't  help  it — need  him.     Be 
rn 


LEERIE 

sides,  he's  his  best  friend."  She  turned  to 
Peter  with  a  strained  eagerness.  "This  will 
be  news  to  you.  Doctor  Dempsy  is  due  here 
in  the  morning — taken  suddenly — major  op 
eration — nurse  just  wired.  I  want  you  and 
Miss  Max  to  take  him  on  to  the  Dentons  if 
he  can  stand  the  trip.  Awfully  delicate 
operation,  and  it's  Doctor  John's  crack  piece 
of  work.  Will  you  do  it?" 

The  unexpectedness  of  the  news  and  the 
request  overwhelmed  Peter's  usually  agile 
intelligence.  He  stared  blankly  at  the  girl 
before  him.  "I  don't  think  I  understand. 
If  Dempsy  is  coming  here  for  an  operation, 
why  should  we  take  him  somewhere  else? 
Why  shouldn't  he  be  operated  on  here  if  he 
wants  to  be?" 

"He  thinks  Doctor  Jefferson  is  still  operat 
ing.  He  doesn't  know— 

The  superintendent  of  nurses  interrupted 
her.  "  Leerie,  you're  overstepping  even  your 
privileges.  Doctor  Brainard  was  called  here 
to  take  charge  because  the  management  had 
absolute  confidence  in  his  skill  and  knew  he 
was  trustworthy  and  conscientious.  I  think 
there  is  nothing  further  that  needs  to  be  said. 
Doctor  Dempsy  will  do  what  every  other 

126 


FOR   THE   HONOR   OF   THE   SAN 

patient  has  done,  put  himself  unreservedly 
into  Doctor  Brainard's  hands." 

"But  he  mustn't."  The  crimson  had  died 
out  of  Sheila's  cheeks,  and  she  stood  now 
pale  to  the  very  lips,  her  face  working  con 
vulsively.  "You  don't  seem  to  understand, 
and  it's  hard — hard  to  put  it  into  words. 
Doctor  Brainard  is  young — very  young  for 
his  position  and  all  the  responsibility  that 
has  been  heaped  upon  him.  His  work  ever 
since  he  came  has  been  terrific — eight  and 
ten  majors  a  day,  Sundays,  too.  It's  been  a 
fearful  strain,  and  now  to  make  him  respon 
sible  for  a  case  like  Doctor  Dempsy,  a  case 
that  takes  great  delicacy  and  nerv.e,  one  that 
is  bound  to  attack  his  sympathy  and  his 
reputation  at  the  same  time,  why — why,  it 
isn't  fair.  Can't  you  see  that  if  he  should 
fail,  no  matter  how  blameless  he  might  be, 
it  would  stick  to  him  for  the  rest  of  his  life, 
a  blot  on  his  work  and  the  San?"  Sheila's 
hands  went  out  in  a  last  appeal.  "  Send  him 
to  the  Dentons;  they've  had  five  years  of 
experience  for  every  year  of  Doctor  Brain 
ard's.  Please,  please!  Oh,  don't  you  see?" 

"Why  should  you  care  so  much?"  The 
words  were  off  Peter's  tongue  before  he  knew 

127 


LEERIE 

it.  He  would  have  given  a  good  deal  if  he 
could  have  got  them  back. 

The  girl  looked  from  him  to  Miss  Maxwell. 
The  question  apparently  bewildered  her. 
Then  a  hint  of  her  old-time  dignity  and  as 
surance  returned,  coupled  with  her  cryptic 
mood.  "Plenty  of  reasons:  he  was  Miss 
Max's  chief — she  always  worshiped  him — 
your  best  friend,  a  most  loved  and  honored 
man  in  the  profession.  Isn't  he?  Well, 
this  isn't  the  time  or  the  place  for  a 
risk." 

The  superintendent  rose  and  looked  down 
at  the  girl.  When  she  spoke  there  was  a 
touch  of  annoyance  in  the  tone  as  well  as 
sadness.  "And  that's  as  much — and  as 
little — as  you  expect  to  tell  us?" 

Sheila  nodded. 

Miss  Maxwell  threw  up  her  hands  in  a 
little  gesture  of  helplessness.  "Leerie,  Lee- 
rie,  what  are  we  going  to  do  with  you?  It 
was  this  way  even  three  years  ago." 

In  a  flash  the  girl's  arms  were  about  the 
superintendent's  neck,  her  face  buried  on  her 
shoulder;  the  words  were  barely  audible  to 
Peter,  "Love  me  and  believe  in  me — as  you 
did  three  years  ago."  And  then  a  choking, 

128 


FOR   THE   HONOR   OF  THE   SAN 

wet-eyed,  and  rather  disheveled  figure  flew 
past  him,  out  of  the  room. 

Miss  Maxwell  sank  back  heavily  into  her 
chair;  her  face  showed  plainly  her  battling 
between  love  for  the  girl,  her  sense  of  out 
raged  discipline,  and  her  anxiety  over  the 
decision  she  must  make.  Peter  watched  her 
with  a  sort  of  impersonal  sympathy;  the 
major  part  of  his  being  had  been  plunged  into 
what  seemed  a  veritable  chasm  of  hopeless 
ness.  He  tried  to  pull  himself  together  and 
realize  that  there  was  Dempsy  to  think  about. 

"What  are  you  going  to  do?"  he  asked,  at 
last. 

"Do?    You  mean — about — ?" 

Peter  nodded. 

An  almost  pathetic  smile  crept  into  the 
superintendent's  face.  "As  long  as  you  were 
here,  anyway,  it's  rather  a  relief  to  be  able  to 
confess  that  I  don't  know  what  to  do.  You 
see,  superintendents  are  always  supposed  to 
have  infallible  judgment  on  all  matters,"  she 
sighed.  "I  have  never  but  once  known 
Leerie  to  break  a  rule  or  ask  for  a  special  dis 
pensation  without  a  reason — a  good  reason. 
But  I  don't  understand  what  lies  behind  all 
this." 

129 


LEERIE 

"  I  do."  Peter  fairly  roared  it  forth.  "  She 
loves  that  man,  and  she's  afraid  this  might 
ruin  his  career  if — if  anything  happened. 
Why,  it's  as  plain  as  these  four  walls  and  the 
ceiling  above  us.  No  woman  pleads  for  a 
man  that  way  unless  she  loves  him  better 
than  anything  else  on  God's  earth." 

"I  think  you're  wrong." 

"Why?"  Peter  strode  over  to  the  super 
intendent's  desk  like  a  man  after  his  reprieve. 
"I'm  not  just  curious.  I've  the  biggest  excuse 
in  the  world  for  wanting  to  know  why  she  has 
asked  this.  I  love  Sheila  O'Leary.  I  love 
her  well  enough  to  leave  her  to-night  with 
the  man  she  loves,  provided  he  loves  her. 
But  if  he  doesn't — if  he's  just  playing  with 
her,  accepting  her  as  a  sop  to  his  vanity,  as  a 
lot  of  near-famous  men  will  with  a  woman — 
then,  by  thunder!  I'm  going  to  stay  and  fight 
him  for  her!  Understand?"  And  Peter's 
fist  pounded  the  desk. 

The  superintendent  smiled  again.  This 
time  there  was  no  pathos  in  it.  "I  under 
stand — and  I'd  stay.  You  ought  to  know 
Leerie  well  enough  by  this  time  to  know  that 
she  can  fight  for  the  right  of  anything, 
whether  she  cares  personally  or  not,  and  more 

130 


FOR   THE   HONOR  OF  THE   SAN 

than  that,  even  if  she  has  to  suffer  for  it  her 
self.  She's  the  only  woman  I  have  ever 
known  who  had  that  particular  kind  of 
heroism.  If  she  felt  Doctor  Brainard  needed 
some  one  to  stand  up  for  him,  I  believe  she 
could  plead  better  if  she  didn't  care.  And 
I've  another,  a  better  reason  for  thinking 
she  doesn't  love  him.  She  refused  at  first 
to  be  his  surgical  nurse.  She  didn't  con 
sent  until  she  knew  that  he  had  made  that 
one  of  the  conditions  of  his  coming  here; 
he  stipulated  that  he  must  be  allowed  to 
bring  his  own  anesthetist,  operate  without 
an  assistant,  and  choose  his  own  operating 
nurse." 

"And  he  choose  her?" 

"She  is  the  best  we  have.  Not  using  an 
assistant  throws  a  tremendous  responsibility 
and  strain  on  the  nurse,  and  Doctor  Brainard 
naturally  wanted  the  most  expert  one  he 
could  get." 

"Then  there  was  nothing  personal — " 

"  I  don't  think  so.  Doctor  Brainard  has  a 
strong  influence  over  Leerie,  but  I  believe  it 
is  only  what  any  surgeon  with  distinction  and 
power  would  have.  If  she  really  cared  for 
Doctor  Brainard,  she  wouldn't  have  said 

1.31 


LEERIE 

what  she  did  when  I  asked  her  to  take  the 
appointment." 

"What  did  she  say?"  Peter  leaned  for 
ward  eagerly  and  gripped  the  edge  of  the 
desk. 

"She  said  she  would  rather  be  suspended 
for  three  more  years  than  do  it,  but  if  there 
was  no  one  else,  she  guessed  she  could  manage 
it  for  the  honor  of  the  San." 

"What  did  she  mean?" 

"Oh,  that's  just  a  by-phrase  among  those 
of  us  who  have  worked  here  a  long  while  and 
feel  a  certain  loyalty  and  responsibility  for 
the  ideals  of  this  institution.  We  have  tried 
to  stand  for  honest,  humane  work  as  against 
mere  money  grubbing  and  popularity." 

"I  see.  That's  why  Dempsy  sent  me 
here;  that's  why  he's  coming  himself.  Thank 
you,  Miss  Maxwell.  I  hope  you're  right." 
Peter  straightened  himself  and  moved  toward 
the  door. 

"Wait  a  minute,  Mr.  Brooks.  How  much 
do  you  know  of  what  happened  three  years 
ago?" 

"Just  what  has  dripped  from  the  wagging 
tongues."  Peter  smiled  ironically. 

"Suppose  I  tell  you  the  truth  of  it.     It 

132 


FOR   THE   HONOR  OF  THE   SAN 

might  help  you  to  fight  this  thing  through. 
It  certainly  couldn't  hurt  your  love  for 
Leerie  if  you  really  love  her." 

"Nothing  could,"  said  Peter,  simply. 

"Doctor  Brainard  and  Leerie  were  the  very 
best  of  friends  during  the  years  she  was  train 
ing  and  he  was  working  under  Doctor  Jeffer 
son.  Then  I  thought  it  was  love ;  they  were 
always  together,  and  there  seemed  to  be  a 
strong,  deep  sympathy  between  the  two. 
Just  about  the  time  she  graduated  things 
began  to  go  awry.  Doctor  Brainard  was 
on  the  verge  of  a  nervous  breakdown  and 
Leerie  seemed  to  be  laboring  under  some  bad 
mental  strain.  Then  the  nurses  began  to 
hint  that  Leerie  had  been  going  to  his  room. 
One  night,  when  she  was  head  night  nurse  in 
the  Surgical  and  Miss  Jacobs  was  fourth  cor 
ridor  nurse,  Miss  Jacobs  called  me  up  at  two 
in  the  morning  and  told  me  Leerie  had  been 
in  Doctor  Brainard 's  room  for  an  hour.  I 
came  at  once  and  found  her  there.  She  made 
no  explanation,  offered  no  excuses.  She  even 
acknowledged  that  she  had  been  there  twice 
before  at  the  same  time." 

"What  did  Brainard  say?"  Peter  asked  it 
through  clenched  teeth. 

133 


LEERIE 

"Nothing  then.  But  later,  when  he  was 
called  before  the  Board,  he  laughed  and  asked 
what  a  man  could  say  when  a  nurse  chose  to 
come  to  his  room  at  two  in  the  morning." 

"The  cad!"  and  Peter  swore  under  his 
breath. 

"  I  should  have  believed  in  Leerie,  anyway, 
but  it  was  that  laugh  of  Doctor  Brainard's 
that  made  me  determined  to  fight  for  her. 
What  motive  Doctor  Brainard  had  for  not 
defending  her  I  don't  know,  but  he  acted  like 
a  scoundrel." 

"But  why?"  Peter  beat  the  air.  "Oh, 
the  girl  must  have  known  she  couldn't  run 
amuck  with  convention  that  way  and  not 
have  it  hurt  her!  Why  did  she  do  it?" 

The  superintendent  of  nurses  looked  long 
and  thoughtfully  at  him.  "Do  you  know, 
Mr.  Brooks,  if  I  happened  to  be  the  man  who 
loved  Sheila  O'Leary,  I  think  I'd  find  that 
out  as  soon  as  I  could.  The  answer  might 
prove  valuable ;  it  might  solve  the  riddle  why 
Sheila  doesn't  want  Doctor  Dempsy  operated 
on  here." 

"Well,  is  he  going  to  be?" 

"No,  we'll  take  him  on  to  the  Dentons  if 
he  can  be  moved  again  after  he  gets  here." 

134 


FOR   THE   HONOR   OF   THE   SAN 

But  fate  willed  otherwise.  When  Doctor 
Dempsy  arrived  on  the  early  train  there 
were  no  conflicting  opinions  as  to  his  condi 
tion;  it  was  critical,  and  there  would  have  to 
be  an  operation  within  tv/enty-four  hours. 
Miss  Maxwell  brought  the  news  to  Peter 
along  with  the  doctor's  wish  that  his  friend 
should  be  with  him  as  long  as  the  powers 
allowed. 

"Does  Leerie  know?"  asked  Peter. 

"She  was  present  at  the  consultation." 

"What  did  she  say?" 

"  Nothing.  But  she  looked  very  white  and 
drawn.  I'm  afraid  she  hasn't  slept  much." 

"Good  Lord!  you  don't  believe  she  really 
thinks  Brainard  will  bungle!" 

But  Miss  Maxwell  cut  him  short.  "This 
is  no  time  to  bother  with  futile  suppositions. 
Please,  Mr.  Brooks!  Remember  that  for  all 
our  sakes — Doctor  Dempsy's  most  of  all — 
this  is  the  time  to  keep  our  nerve  and  think 
only  one  way."  With  a  grave  shake  of  the 
head  she  left  him  at  the  door  of  Doctor 
Dempsy's  room. 

To  Peter  the  day  crept  on  at  a  snail's 
pace;  to  Sheila  it  galloped.  Peter  saw  her 
just  once,  when,  at  Doctor  Dempsy's  urgent 

10  135 


LEERIE 

wish,  she  came  in  for  a  moment  between 
operations,  muffled  to  the  eyes  in  her  gown 
and  mask. 

"Come  here,  child."  The  old  doctor  held 
out  a  commanding  hand  and  drew  the  nurse 
close  to  the  bed.  "I've  had  something  on 
my  mind  ever  since  I  saw  your  face  this 
morning.  Might  as  well  say  it  now  before  I 
forget  it."  He  smiled  up  gently  at  the  great, 
deep-gray  eyes  looking  down  wistfully  at  him. 
"I  imagine  that  you  two  youngsters  may  be 
fretting  some  over  to-morrow — seven  A.M. 
Hey?  Mean  trick  to  saddle  you  with  the 
responsibility  of  an  old,  worn-out  hulk  like 
mine,  with  the  chances  fifty-fifty  on  patching 
it  up.  What  I  wanted  to  say  was  that  you 
mustn't  take  it  too  hard  if  I  don't  patch. 
'Pon  my  soul  I  sha'n't  mind  for  myself." 

A  voice  called  from  the  corridor  outside, 
"Miss  O'Leary,  Doctor  Brainard's  waiting." 

Doctor  Dempsy  gave  the  hand  inside  the 
rubber  glove  a  tight  squeeze.  "Remember, 
Leerie,  I  know  you  '11  keep  the  little  old  lan 
tern  burning  for  me  as  long  as  you  can,  and 
here's  good  luck,  whatever  happens." 

She  went  without  a  word.  Peter  had  be 
come  vastly  absorbed  at  the  window  in 

136 


FOR   THE   HONOR   OF   THE   SAN 

watching  Hennessy  sweeping  a  gathering  of 
leaves  from  the  curb.  When  he  finally  came 
back  to  his  chair  by  the  bedside  he  flattered 
himself  that  his  expression  was  beatifically 
cheerful  and  his  voice  perfectly  steady. 

As  the  day  waned  a  storm  gathered,  and  by 
nightfall  the  sanitarium  and  the  surrounding 
country  were  in  the  grip  of  a  full-fledged  equi 
noctial.  Doctor  Dempsy  was  put  to  bed 
early,  and  Peter  went  back  to  his  room  in  the 
main  building  to  write  himself  into  a  state  of 
temporary  forgetfulness,  if  he  could.  He  had 
tinkered  with  his  pen,  sharpened  half  a  dozen 
pencils,  and  mussed  up  as  many  sheets  of 
paper  when  a  knock  brought  him  to  his  feet. 
Sheila  O'Leary  stood  at  the  door.  Her  lips 
were  bravely  trying  to  smile  away  the  hag 
gard  lines  of  the  face. 

Unconsciously  Peter's  arms  went  out  to 
her  as  he  repeated  that  old  cry  of  his  in  the 
days  when  he  was  a  sufferer  in  the  Surgical, 
"Why — why,  it's  Leerie!"  and  his  love 
seemed  to  pound  through  every  syllable. 

For  the  flash  of  a  second  the  eyes  of  the 
girl  leaped  to  his  in  answer,  but  in  another 
flash  they  seemed  to  have  traveled  miles 
away,  looking  back  at  him  with  the  sadness 

137 


LEERIE 

of  a  lost  angel.  "Yes,  it's  Leerie  again — 
come  for  help,"  she  announced,  tersely. 

"All  right."  Peter  tried  to  sound  matter- 
of-fact. 

"Don't  ask  questions;  just  do  it.  Will 
you?" 

Peter  nodded. 

"You  said  once  if  you  had  to,  you  could 
drive  through  any  storm,  snow,  hail,  or  rain, 
that  you  had  ever  seen.  Yes?  Then  get 
your  car  and  take  Doctor  Brainard  out  to 
night.  Take  him  anywhere,  and  keep  him 
going  till  he's  so  tired  he's  ready  to  drop. 
Talk  to  him,  tell  him  stories,  don't  let  him 
talk  about  himself — or  to-morrow.  And 
bring  him  home  when  you  think  he  can 
sleep." 

"Yes.     What  are  you  going  to  do?" 

"Sleep,  I  hope."  She  turned  to  go,  but 
came  back  again  and  laid  a  cold  hand  in 
Peter's.  "  Thank  you.  Don't  think  I  don't 
appreciate  it." 

"Wait  a  minute.  As  it  happens,  I  haven't 
met  Doctor  Brainard,  and  there's  a  perfectly 
good  chance  he  may  not  care  about  joy- 
riding  in  a  young  hurricane — even  in  my 
company,"  Peter  ended  ironically. 

138 


FOR  THE   HONOR   OF   THE   SAN 

Leerie  gave  a  little  hollow  laugh.  "Oh, 
he'll  go — don't  worry.  I'll  bring  him  down 
and  introduce  him.  Ready  in  ten  minutes?" 
And  this  time  she  was  gone. 

Peter  knew  if  he  lived  to  the  ripe  old  age 
of  Solomon  himself  he  should  never  forget  the 
smallest  detail  of  that  night — Doctor  Brain- 
ard's  curt,  almost  surly  greeting,  the  plunge 
into  the  car,  and  the  start.  After  that  Peter 
felt  like  a  mythological  being  piloting  the 
elements.  He  headed  for  a  state  road,  and 
for  miles,  neither  of  them  speaking,  the  car 
streaked  over  what  might  have  been  the  sur 
face  of  the  river  of  Lethe,  or  the  strata  of  mist 
lying  above  Niflheim,  for  all  the  feeling  of 
reality  and  substance  it  gave.  He  had  the 
eery  sensation  that  he  might  be  forced  to 
keep  on  and  on  till  the  end  of  the  world,  like 
the  Flying  Dutchman.  He  wondered  what 
sin  of  his  own  or  some  one's  else  he  might  be 
expiating.  They  passed  no  living  or  me 
chanical  thing;  they  had  the  road,  the  night, 
the  storm  to  themselves.  They  might  have 
gone  ten  miles  or  thirty  before  Doctor 
Brainard  broke  the  silence. 

"Gad!  but  you  can  drive!" 

"Thank  you.     Like  it?" 

139 


LEERIE 

"Not  exactly.  But  it's  better  than  think 
ing." 

"Works  the  other  way  with  me;  this  sets 
me  thinking."  A  sudden,  heavier  gust  sent 
the  car  skidding  across  the  road,  and  Peter's 
attention  went  to  his  wheel.  Righting  it,  he 
went  on,  "This  is  the  second  time  in  my  life 
I've  felt  something  controlling  me  that  was 
stronger  than  my  own  will." 

' '  Nasty  feeling.  Lucky  man  if  you've  only 
felt  it  twice.  What  was  it  the  first  time?" 

"Fear.     That's  what  brought  me  here." 

Peter  felt  the  eyes  of  the  doctor  studying 
him  in  the  dark.  "I  heard  about  your  case. 
It  was  Leerie  brought  you  through,  too, 
wasn't  it?" 

Quick  as  a  flash  Peter  turned.  For  the 
instant  he  forgot  they  were  speeding  at  a  for 
bidden  rate  down  slippery  macadam  in  a 
tempest,  with  his  hand  as  the  only  controlling 
force.  He  almost  dropped  his  wheel.  "  Why 
'  too'?  Is  she  pulling  you  through  some 
thing?" 

He  could  hear  a  heavy  intake  of  breath 
beside  him.  Unconsciously  he  knew  that  his 
companion  was  no  longer  sitting  limp  with 
relaxed  muscles.  He  seemed  to  feel  every 

140 


FOR   THE   HONOR   OF   THE   SAN 

nerve  and  fiber  in  the  body  of  the  surgeon 
growing  tense,  which  made  his  careless,  in 
consequential  tone  sound  the  more  strange 
when  he  finally  spoke : 

"That's  an  odd  question  to  put  to  a  doc 
tor.  I  was  referring  to  Leerie's  cases.  She's 
pulled  through  hundreds  of  patients,  you 
know;  she's  famous  for  it." 

"Yes,  I  know,"  answered  Peter.  His 
voice  sounded  just  as  careless,  but  the 
hands  that  gripped  the  wheel  were  as  taut 
as  steel. 

They  swept  on  for  another  half-hour,  the 
silence  broken  by  an  occasional  yawn  from 
the  surgeon.  At  last  Peter  slowed  down  and 
looked  at  his  watch.  "Eleven-thirty.  If 
we  turn  now  we'll  make  the  San  about  one. 
How's  that  for  bedtime?" 

"Gad!  I'm  ready  now,"  and  the  doctor 
yawned  again. 

Peter  timed  it  to  a  nicety.  It  was  five 
minutes  past  one  as  he  dropped  Doctor 
Brainard  at  the  Surgical,  where  he  roomed. 
He  was  just  driving  off  when  Miss  Jacobs 
hurried  out  of  the  entrance. 

"Oh,  Mr.  Brooks,  wait  a  minute,  please. 
Doctor  Dempsy  isn't  resting  very  well,  and 

141 


LEERIE 

Miss  Maxwell  left  word  that  if  he  called  for 
you,  you  could  sit  with  him.  We  can't  get 
him  to  sleep,  and  he  does  want  you." 

"All  right.  I'll  leave  the  car  and  come 
back." 

As  Peter  took  his  chair  again  by  his 
friend's  bedside  his  face  was  set  to  as  strong 
a  purpose  as  Sheila  O'Leary's  had  shown  that 
day  in  the  sanitarium  grounds.  "Want  me 
to  talk,  old  man?"  he  asked,  quietly.  "May 
be  I  can  yarn  you  into  forty  winks.  Shall  I 
try?" 

"Wish  you  would.  It's  funny  how  a  man 
can  go  through  this  with  a  thousand  or  so 
patients  and  it  seems  like  an  every-day  affair, 
but  when  it's  himself — well,  there's  the  rub." 
And  the  doctor  smiled  a  bit  sheepishly  at  his 
own  ungovernable  nerves. 

Peter  gripped  his  hand  understandingly. 
"I  know.  It's  the  difference  between  fiction 
and  autobiography  as  far  as  it  touches  your 
own  sense  of  reality.  Well,  to-night  shall  we 
try  fiction?  Ever  since  they  pulled  me 
through  here,  I've  had  my  mind  on  a  yarn 
with  a  sanitarium  or  hospital  for  a  back 
ground  and  a  doctor  for  a  hero.  All  this  at 
mosphere  gets  into  your  blood.  It  keeps  you 

142 


FOR   THE   HONOR   OF   THE   SAN 

guessing  until  you  have  to  spin  a  yarn  and 
use  up  the  material." 

"  Anything  for  copy,  hey?"  the  doctor 
chuckled. 

"  That's  about  it.  Well,  my  yarn  runs 
about  this  way."  With  the  skill  of  an  artist 
and  the  sympathy  of  a  humanist — and  the 
suppressed  excitement  of  one  who  has  some 
thing  at  stake — Peter  drew  his  two  principal 
characters,  the  conscientious,  sensitive  doctor 
possessed  with  the  constant  fear  of  that  hy 
pothetical  case  he  might  lose  some  day,  and 
the  smooth,  scheming  man  a  few  years  his 
senior  who  wanted  to  get  his  fellow-practi 
tioner  out  of  the  way  and  marry  the  girl  they 
both  loved.  Peter  made  the  girl  as  adorable 
as  a  man  in  love  might  picture  her. 

"For  a  sixpence  I'd  wager  you  had  fallen 
in  love  yourself."  Doctor  Dempsy  chuckled 
again.  "I  never  before  knew  you  to  be  so 
keen  over  feminine  charms." 

"  Just  more  copy,"  and  Peter  went  on  with 
the  tale.  "Well,  the  young  chap's  horror 
and  fear  kept  growing  with  each  new  case, 
and  the  other  chap  kept  sneering  and  suggest 
ing  that  his  nerves  weren't  fit,  and  his  hand 
wasn't  steady,  and  he  worked  too  slowly. 

143 


LEERIE 

He  kept  it  up  until  he  got  what  he  wanted; 
the  young  chap  bungled  his  operation  and 
lost  his  case." 

"Poor  devil!  I  know  just  what  kind  of 
torment  he  lived  through."  Doctor  Dempsy 
raised  himself  on  an  elbow  and  shook  his  head 
at  Peter.  "A  case  like  that  may  be  fiction 
to  you,  but  it's  fact  to  us  in  the  profession. 
You  have  no  idea  how  often  a  youngster's 
nerves  fail  him." 

"Guess  I'm  getting  the  idea.  But  I  need 
your  help  to  finish  the  yarn.  Of  course  the 
hospital  couldn't  bounce  him  for  losing  one 
case.  They  would  have  to  prove  first  that  he 
wasn't  fit,  wouldn't  they?" 

"They  would  have  to  make  him  out 
incompetent." 

Peter  nodded.  Had  there  been  more  light 
in  the  room  Doctor  Dempsy  might  have  been 
startled  at  the  unprecedented  expression  of 
cunning  that  had  crept  into  his  friend's  face. 
"I'm  not  up  enough  in  medical  matters  to 
know  what  I  could  prove  against  the  young 
chap  to  put  him  out.  You'll  have  to  help 
me.  Just  how  could  his  rival  oust  him?" 

"Accuse  him  of  drugs,"  came  the  un 
hesitating  answer.  "That's  the  most  plaus- 

144 


FOR   THE   HONOR   OF   THE   SAN 

ible,  and  it's  what  plays  havoc  with  young 
surgeons  quicker  than  anything  else.  They 
feel  their  nerves  going,  and  they  take  a 
hypodermic;  it  steadies  them  until — it  gets 
them.  If  you  can  make  your  villain  con 
vince  the  staff  that  drugs  are  back  of  the 
lost  case,  you  can  get  your  poor  devil  of  a 
surgeon  permanently  disposed  of." 

Peter  let  out  a  long-drawn  breath.  "  Thank 
you,  Doc.  You've  helped  me  out — consid 
erably." 

It  does  not  in  the  least  matter  how  Peter 
finished  the  tale.  Before  the  inevitable  con 
clusion  Doctor  Dempsy  dropped  off  to  sleep, 
and  no  one  but  Peter  himself  heard  the  final, 
"And  they  married  and  lived  happy  ever 
after.  By  Jupiter  they  did!" 

He  slipped  softly  out  of  the  room  and  stood 
a  moment  in  the  corridor,  wondering  what  he 
would  do  next.  Sleep  seemed  unnecessary 
just  then,  as  well  as  undesirable.  And  as  he 
stood  there,  innocent  of  all  intention  of  eaves 
dropping,  he  had  that  rare  experience  of 
hearing  history  repeat  itself.  From  around 
the  bend  of  the  corridor,  out  of  sight,  came 
the  low  but  distinct  whisper  of  the  night 
nurse's  voice  at  the  house  'phone. 

145 


LEERIE 

"Miss  Maxwell,  Miss  Maxwell,  can  you 
hear  me?  This  is  Miss  Jacobs.  Leerie  went 
to  Doctor  Brainard's  room  a  half-hour  ago. 
She's  still  there.  ...  All  right."  And  then 
the  soft  click  of  the  receiver  dropping  into 
place. 

Peter  stiffened;  his  hands  clenched.  His 
first  impulse  was  to  creep  'round  and  quietly 
choke  the  tattle-tale  breath  out  of  Miss 
Jacobs.  He  knew  how  the  little  green-eyed 
nurse  was  gloating  over  this  second  incrimina- 
tion  of  Leerie.  But  there  was  something 
more  compelling  to  do  first,  something  that 
could  not  wait.  He  slipped  'round  through 
the  supply-room  and  down  the  back  stairs. 
He  reached  the  first  floor  of  the  Surgical  just 
as  the  superintendent  of  nurses  appeared  in 
the  entrance. 

"You!"  demanded  Miss  Maxwell. 
"No  one  else,"  agreed  Peter.     "Suppose 
we  go  up  together." 

Peter  could  have  almost  laughed  at  the 
look  of  dumfounded  amazement  on  the  su 
perintendent's  face.  "You  mean—  Why, 
that's  impossible!  It  isn't  your  place- 
Peter  cut  her  short.  "Oh  yes,  it  is.  Re 
member  the  advice  you  gave  me  a  few  hours 

146 


FOR   THE   HONOR   OF   THE   SAN 

ago.  I'm  here  to  find  out  what's  back  of  it 
all,  and  no  one  is  going  to  stop  me."  His 
jaws  snapped  with  an  ominous  finality. 

Doctor  Brainard  opened  to  their  knock, 
but  he  held  the  door  so  that  barely  a  corner 
of  the  room  was  visible,  and  he  blocked  the 
entrance. 

"Open  it  wider!"  commanded  Peter. 
"We've  come  to  stay  a  few  minutes  and 
ask  Miss  O'Leary  a  few  questions,"  and  he 
thrust  the  surgeon  quickly  aside  and  flung 
wide  the  door. 

Sheila  was  sitting  by  a  reading-lamp,  an 
open  book  on  her  lap.  She  looked  as  Peter 
had  seen  her  in  the  early  evening,  only  back 
of  the  tiredness  and  pallor  was  a  strange  look 
of  peace.  To  Peter  she  seemed  a  crucified 
saint  who  had  suddenly  discovered  that  nail 
wounds  were  harmless.  She  smiled  faintly 
at  them  both.  "I'm  sorry  it's  happened 
again,  Miss  Maxwell.  If  you'll  just  go  away 
and  try  to  forget  about  it  until  after  the 
morning,  I'll  send  in  my  resignation  and 
leave  as  soon  as  you  can  fill  my  place.  And 
can't  we  do  it  this  time  without  any  Board 
meeting?  I'll  promise  never  to  come  back." 

"Then  there  are  going  to  be  no  explana- 

147 


LEERIE 

tions  this  time — either?"  There  was  plead 
ing  in  the  superintendent's  voice,  as  well  as 
infinite  sadness. 

The  girl  shook  her  head.  "There's  noth 
ing  to  explain.  I'm  just  here."  She  folded 
her  hands  quietly  on  her  lap.  "Won't  you 
please  go?" 

"No,  we  won't!"  Peter  thundered  it  forth. 
Then  he  turned  to  the  surgeon,  and  there  was 
no  pleading  in  his  voice.  "You  cur!  you 
cad!  What  have  you  got  to  say?" 

Doctor  Brainard  jumped  as  if  Peter  had 
struck  him ;  for  the  instant  he  seemed  to  find 
speech  difficult.  "Why — why,  what  do  you 
mean?  How  dare  you — " 

"I  dare  you,"  and  Peter  shot  out  each 
word  with  the  directness  of  a  hand-grenade, 
"I  dare  you  to  stand  up  like  a  man  and  tell 
why  Miss  O'Leary  came  here  to-night.  You 
sneaked  behind  her  silence  three  years  ago; 
don't  be  a  cursed  coward  and  do  it  again." 

The  surgeon  laughed  a  dry,  unpleasant 
laugh.  "  It's  easy  to  call  another  man  names 
— but  it  doesn't  mean  anything.  And  what 
right  have  you  to  ask  me  to  betray  Miss 
O'Leary 's  silence?" 

"Betray!"     Peter  fairly  howled  back  the 

143 


FOR  THE   HONOR  OF  THE   SAN 

word  at  him.  "Take  off  your  coat.  Take 
it  off,  or  I'll  rip  it  off.  Now  roll  up  your 
sleeves — no,  your  left.  There,  by  Jupiter! 
Look,  Miss  Maxwell!" 

Peter's  demand  was  unnecessary.  The 
eyes  of  the  superintendent  were  already  fixed 
on  the  manifold  tiny  blue  discolorations  in 
the  surgeon's  bare  arm.  "Cocaine."  She 
almost  whispered  it  under  her  breath,  and 
then  louder,  "How  long?" 

"Four  years,  about."  The  surgeon's  voice 
was  quite  toneless;  he  seemed  to  shrink  and 
grow  old  while  they  watched  him. 

Miss  Maxwell  looked  across  at  the  girl, 
who  was  leaning  forward,  her  face  in  her 
hands,  crying  softly.  Her  eyes  were  bitterly 
accusing,  and  there  was  abundant  scorn  in 
her  voice  when  she  spoke  again  to  the  sur 
geon.  "So  Leerie  has  been  shielding  you  all 
along  and  helping  you  to  fight  it.  How  did 
she  know?" 

"  I  told  her.  I  thought  if  some  one  with  a 
courage  and  trust  like  hers  knew  about  it  it 
might  pull  me  together.  God!  I  wish  I'd 
killed  myself  three  years  ago." 

"Pity  you  didn't !"  There  was  no  mercy  in 
Peter's  voice.  "But  I  suppose  she  wouldn't 

149 


LEERIE 

let  you ;  I  suppose  she  held  you  together  then 
as  she's  trying  to  now.  She's  trying  to  save 
you  for  to-morrow — seven  A.M. — and  all  the 
to-morrows  coming  after.  I — I  think  I'm 
beginning  to  understand."  His  arms  dropped 
dejectedly  to  his  sides.  For  Peter  there 
could  be  but  one  meaning  to  Sheila's  sacrifice 
and  struggle. 

But  Miss  Maxwell  was  holding  fast  to  her 
cross  -  examination.  "And  I  suppose  you 
promised  Leerie  three  years  ago  if  she'd  keep 
silent  you  would  fight  it  through  and  break 
the  habit.  And  that's  why  you've  let  no  one 
but  Leerie  and  Miss  Jacobs  in  the  operating- 
room,  so  no  one  else  would  guess.  Did  Miss 
Jacobs  find  out  three  years  ago?'* 

Doctor  Brainard  nodded. 

Words  failed  the  superintendent,  but  her 
expression  boded  ill  for  the  little  green-eyed 
nurse.  "Well,"  she  said,  at  length,  "there's 
only  one  thing  that  matters  right  now — are 
you  or  are  you  not  going  to  be  in  a  fit  condi 
tion  to  operate  to-morrow?" 

It  was  Leerie  who  answered.  She  was  out 
of  her  chair  at  a  bound  and  beside  the  sur 
geon,  her  hand  on  his  arm.  "He's  going  to 
operate;  he's  got  to.  There  isn't  another 

150 


FOR   THE   HONOR   OF   THE   SAN 

skilled  hand  like  his  nearer  than  the  Den  tons, 
so  he's  got  to  bring  Doctor  Dempsy  through. 
Please,  Miss  Maxwell,  leave  him  to  me.  I 
can  manage.  He's  got  four  hours  to  sleep, 
and  then  I'll  let  him  have  enough  cocaine  to 
steady  him.  Won't  you  trust  me?" 

"It's  about  the  only  way  now." 

Peter  left  unnoticed.  He  realized,  as  he 
had  realized  in  the  sanitarium  grounds  that 
afternoon,  that  he  counted  about  as  much  in 
this  crisis  as  a  part  of  the  inanimate  sur 
roundings.  Miss  Maxwell  joined  him  a  mo 
ment  later,  looking  outrageously  relieved. 
She  flashed  Peter  an  apologetic  smile. 

"I  know  it's  shameless  of  me  to  look  glad 
when  you  look  so  miserable.  But  I  can't 
help  feeling  that  we  are  going  to  win.  Leerie 
deserves  it  after  what  she's  suffered  for  him. 
That  man  couldn't  fail  her,  and  her  trust  is 
bound  to  make  good.  Don't  you  see?" 

Peter's  shoulders  gave  an  unconvincing 
shrug.  "I  hope  so.  He  ought  to — if  he's 
half-way  a  man."  He  looked  at  his  watch. 
"Almost  morning  now.  Guess  I'll  pack  my 
things  and  be  ready  to  start  as  soon  as  I  know 
Dempsy 's  all  right." 

Miss    Maxwell    held    him    back    for    an 

11  151 


LEERIE 

instant.  "  I  know  you're  thinking  that  all's 
wrong  with  the  world,  but  I  know  all's 
right.  Go  and  pack  if  you  must,  but 
please  stay  in  your  room  until  I  send  you 
word.  Promise?" 

And  not  caring,  Peter  promised. 

From  seven  o'clock  on  Peter  paced  the 
room  among  his  packed  luggage  and  counted 
the  minutes.  He  wondered  how  long  his 
patience  would  last  and  when  his  misery 
would  stop  growing.  The  burden  of  both 
had  become  unbearable.  At  eight -thirty  a 
sharp  knock  sounded  and  he  sprang  to  the 
door.  On  the  threshold  stood  a  nurse  in 
surgical  wrappings,  with  eyes  that  shone  like 
a  whole  firmament  of  stars  and  a  mouth  that 
curved  to  the  gentle  demureness  of  a  nun. 
Peter  stood  and  stared  at  this  unexpected 
apparition  of  the  old  Leerie. 

"Well,"  said  the  apparition,  smiling  radi 
antly  as  of  old,  "I'm  a  messenger  of  glad 
tidings.  Won't  you  ask  me  to  come  in?" 

Peter  flushed  and  drew  her  to  a  chair. 

"Oh,  it  was  a  wonderful  operation.  It 
seemed  almost  like  performing  a  miracle,  and 
that  blessed  old  doctor  is  coming  out  of  the 
ether  like  a  baby." 

152 


FOR   THE   HONOR   OF   THE   SAN 

"Maybe  it  was  a  miracle — the  miracle  of  a 
woman's  trust." 

A  look  of  rare  tenderness  swept  into  the 
girl's  face.  "Thank  you.  I  wonder  if  you 
know  how  often  you  say  the  kindest  and  most 
comforting  thing."  Then  she  sobered.  "He's 
made  a  brave  fight,  and  it  wasn't  easy  to  pull 
himself  together,  in  the  face  of  what  he  knew 
you  were  all  thinking  of  him,  and  do  such  a 
tremendous  piece  of  work.  I  want  you  to 
understand.  He's  a  brilliant  surgeon;  it 
didn't  seem  right  that  he  should  be  lost  to 
himself  and  the  profession.  And  the  best  of 
it  is,  he  isn't  going  to  be.  The  San  is  going  to 
stand  by  him;  every  doctor  on  the  staff  is 
willing  to  help  him.  As  soon  as  Doctor 
Jefferson  is  back,  Doctor  Brainard  is  to  stop 
work  until — until  he's  fit  again.  Isn't  that 
splendid!  Oh,  I  could  sing!  I  keep  saying 
over  those  great  Hebrew  words  of  comfort, 
'Weeping  may  tarry  through  the  night,  but 
joy  cometh  in  the  morning." 

"Yes,"  said  Peter,  dully.  "I'm  glad  joy 
has  come  for  you.  May  I  wish  you  and 
Doctor  Brainard  all  success  and  happiness?" 

Sheila's  eyes  looked  into  Peter's  with  a 
sudden  intensity.  "You  may — but  not  to- 

153 


LEERIE 

gether.  Have  you  actually  been  thinking 
that  I  loved  Doctor  Brainard?"  A  hint  of 
the  old  bitterness  crept  into  her  voice.  "I 
can  pity  a  man  like  that,  but  love  him — love 
weakness  and  selfishness — and  the  willingness 
to  betray  a  woman's  honor — no!  Three 
years  ago  he  killed  whatever  personal  feeling 
I  might  have  had  for  him,  and  he  made  me 
hate  all  men." 

"And  you're  still  hating  them?"  Peter 
held  fast  to  his  rising  hopes  while  he  hung 
eagerly  on  her  answer. 

"No.  Ever  since  a  fine,  strong,  unselfish 
man  came  into  my  life  it  has  set  me  loving  all 
mankind  so  scandalously  that  I'm  afraid  the 
only  way  to  make  me  respectable  is — for  some 
man  to  marry  me."  Leerie's  arms  went  out 
to  Peter  in  complete  surrender.  "Oh,  Peter 
—Peter — it's  morning!" 

But  it  was  almost  noon  before  Peter 
began  to  think  intelligently  again,  and  then 
he  remembered  something,  something  that 
ought  to  be  done.  "I  think,"  he  said,  "I 
think  we  ought  to  go  out  and  tell  Hennessy 
and  the  swans;  we  sort  of  owe  it  to  them." 

And  it  all  ended  even  as  Peter  had  proph 
esied  in  his  yarn  by  Doctor  Dempsy 's  bedside. 

154 


Chapter  V 

THE   LAST   OF   THE   SURGICAL 

THINGS  have  a  way  of  beginning  casu 
ally,  so  casually  that  you  think  they  are 
bound  to  spin  themselves  out  into  airy  noth 
ings.  The  first  inkling  you  have  to  the  con 
trary  is  that  headlong  plunge  into  one  of  the 
big  moments  of  your  life,  perhaps  the  biggest. 
But  you  never  cease  to  wonder  at  the  inno 
cent,  inconsequential  way  it  began.  These 
are  the  moments  when  you  can  picture  Fate, 
sitting  like  an  omnipotent  operator  before 
some  giant  switchboard,  playing  with  signals 
and  the  like.  I  dare  say  he  grins  like  a  mis 
chievous  little  boy  who  delights  in  turning 
things  topsy-turvy  whenever  he  has  a  chance. 
Fate  had  been  busy  at  this  for  some  time 
when  the  sanitarium,  quite  oblivious  of  any 
signal  connection,  set  itself  to  the  glorious 
business  of  getting  Sheila  O'Leary  married. 

155 


LEERIE 

Grief,  despair,  disappointment  came  often  to 
the  San,  death  not  infrequently,  but  happi 
ness  rarely,  and  there  had  never  before  been 
such  a  joyous,  personal  happiness  as  this  one. 
Small  wonder  that  the  San  should  gather  it 
close  to  its  heart  and  gloat  over  it!  Was 
not  Sheila  one  of  its  very  own,  born  under  its 
portals,  trained  in  its  school,  placed  above  all 
its  nurses,  and  loved  beyond  all  else?  And 
Peter  Brooks.  Had  not  the  San  given  him 
his  life  and  Sheila?  It  certainly  was  a  time 
for  rejoicing.  As  Hennessy  had  voiced  it: 

"Sure,  half  the  weddin's  ye  go  to  ye  sit 
miserable,  thinkin'  the  man  isn't  good  enough 
for  the  lass,  or  the  lass  is  no  mate  for  the  man. 
But,  glory  be  to  Pether!  here's  a  weddin*  at 
last  that  God  Almighty  might  be  cryin'  the 
banns  for." 

They  were  to  be  married  within  the  month. 
Every  one  was  agreed  to  this,  from  the  super 
intendent  down  to  Flanders,  the  bus-driver 
— yes,  and  even  the  lovers  themselves.  The 
San  forgot  its  aches  and  sorrows  in  the  excite 
ment  of  planning  an  early  summer  wedding. 

"We'll  make  the  chapel  look  lovely," 
chirped  the  Reverend  Mrs.  Grumble,  clasp 
ing  and  unclasping  her  hands  in  a  fidget  of 

156 


THE   LAST   OF   THE   SURGICAL 

anticipation.  "There'll  be  enough  roses 
and  madonna  lilies  in  the  gardens  to  bank 
every  pew  and  make  an  arch  over  the 
chancel." 

"Well,  if  Leerie's  married  in  the  chapel, 
half  of  us  can't  get  in."  And  Madam 
Courot  shook  her  head  in  emphatic  disap 
proval.  "She'd  better  take  the  Congre 
gational  church.  That's  the  only  place 
large  enough  to  hold  everybody  who  will 
want  to  come." 

A  mutinous  murmur  rose  and  circled  the 
patients  on  the  veranda.  Not  married  at 
the  San !  It  was  unthinkable.  So  this  point 
and  the  final  date  Sheila  settled  for  them. 

"We'll  have  the  wedding  in  the  gardens, 
save  all  the  fuss  and  waste  of  picking  the 
flowers,  be  ever  so  much  prettier,  and  every 
body  and  his  neighbor  can  come." 

When  Hennessy  heard  of  it  he  shirred 
his  mouth  into  a  pucker  and  whistled 
ecstatically.  "'Tis  like  her,  just!  Married 
out-o' -doors  wi'  the  growin'  things  to  stand 
up  wi'  her  and  the  blessed  sun  on  her  head. 
Faith,  Hennessy  will  have  to  be  scrubbin'  up 
the  swans  an'  puttin'  white  satin  bows  round 
their  necks." 

157 


LEERIE 

Sheila  chose  the  hour  before  sunset  on  an 
early  day  of  June,  and  the  San  speedily  set 
itself  to  the  task  of  praying  off  the  rain  and 
arranging  the  delightful  details  of  attendants, 
refreshments,  music,  and  all  the  other  non- 
essentials  of  a  successful  wedding.  Miss 
Maxwell,  the  superintendent  of  nurses,  took 
the  trousseau  in  hand  and  portioned  out  piles 
of  napery  and  underwear  to  the  eager  hands 
of  the  nurses  to  embroider.  The  whole  sani 
tarium  was  suddenly  metamorphosed  into  a 
Dorcas  Society ;  patients  forgot  to  be  queru 
lous,  and  refused  extra  rubbings  and  all 
unnecessary  tending,  that  more  stitches 
might  be  taken  in  the  twenty-four  hours  of 
the  hospital  day.  A  great  rivalry  sprang  up 
between  the  day  and  night  nurses  as  to  which 
group  would  finish  the  most,  and  old  Mr. 
Crotchets,  the  cynical  bachelor  with  liver 
complaint  and  a  supposedly  atrophied  heart, 
offered  to  the  winning  shift  the  biggest  box 
of  candy  New  York  could  put  up. 

Through  the  first  days  of  her  happiness 
Sheila  walked  like  a  lambent  being  of  an 
other  world,  whose  radiance  was  almost 
blinding.  Those  who  had  known  her  best, 
who  had  felt  her  warmth  and  beauty  in 

158 


THE   LAST   OF  THE   SURGICAL 

spite  of  that  bitterness  which  had  been  her 
shield  against  the  hurt  she  had  battled  with 
so  long,  looked  upon  her  now  with  unfathom 
able  wonder.  And  Peter,  who  had  worshiped 
her  from  the  moment  she  had  taken  his  hand 
and  led  him  back  to  the  ways  of  health, 
watched  her  as  the  men  of  olden  times  must 
have  watched  the  goddesses  that  occasionally 
graced  their  earth. 

"Beloved,  you're  almost  too  wonderful  for 
an  every-day,  Sunday-edition  newspaper-man 
like  me,"  Peter  whispered  to  her  in  the  hush 
of  one  twilight,  as  they  sat  together  in  the 
rest  -  house,  watching  Hennessy  feed  the 
swans. 

"Every  woman  is,  when  the  miracle  of  her 
life  has  been  wrought  for  her.  Man  of 
mine,"  and  Sheila  reached  out  to  Peter's 
ever  waiting  arms,  "wouldn't  God  be  nig 
gardly  not  to  let  me  seem  beautiful  to  you 
now?" 

Peter  laughed  softly.  "  If  you're  beautiful 
now,  what  will  you  be  when — " 

Sheila  hushed  him.  "Listen,  Peter,  our 
happiness  frightens  me,  it's  so  tremendous  for 
just  two  people — almost  more  than  our  share 
of  life.  I  know  I  seem  foolish,  but  long  ago  I 

159 


LEERIE 

made  up  my  mind  I  should  have  to  do  with 
out  love  and  all  that  goes  with  it,  and  now 
that  it  has  come — sorrow,  death,  never 
frightened  me,  but  this  does." 

"Glad  I  have  the  courage  for  two,  then. 
Look  here,  Leerie,  the  more  happiness  we 
have  the  more  we  can  spill  over  into  other 
lives  and  the  brighter  you  can  burn  your 
lamp  for  the  ones  in  the  dark.  This  old 
world  needs  all  the  happiness  it  can  get  now. 
So?" 

Sheila  smiled,  satisfied.  "You  always  un 
derstand.  If  I  ever  write  out  a  prescription 
for  love,  I  shall  make  understanding  one- 
third  of  the  dose.  Let's  go  into  partnership, 
Brooks  and  O'Leary,  Distillers  and  Dispen 
sers  of  Happiness." 

"All  right,  but  the  firm's  wrong.  It's 
going  to  be  Brooks  and  Brooks,"  and  Peter 
kissed  her. 

"There  is  one  thing,"  and  Sheila  gently 
disentangled  herself.  "There  are  days  and 
days  before  the  wedding,  and  if  everybody 
thinks  I  am  going  to  do  nothing  until  then, 
everybody  is  very  much  mistaken.  I'm 
going  in  this  minute  to  sign  up  for  my  last 
case  in  the  Surgical." 

160 


THE   LAST   OF   THE   SURGICAL 

It  must  have  been  just  at  this  moment  that 
Fate  turned  on  an  arbitrary  signal-light  and 
changed  a  switch.  I  should  like  to  think 
that  back  of  his  grin  lurked  a  tiny  shadow  of 
contrition. 

"And  what  am  I  going  to  do?"  Peter  called 
dolefully  after  her. 

"Oh,  I  don't  know.  You  might  write  an 
article  on  the  dangers  and  uncertainties  of 
marrying  any  woman  in  a  profession."  And 
she  blew  him  a  farewell  kiss. 

The  train  from  the  city,  that  night, 
brought  a  handful  of  patients,  and  one  of 
these  wore  the  uniform  and  insignia  of  a 
lieutenant  of  the  Engineers.  His  mother 
came  with  him.  She  had  been  an  old  patient, 
and  because  of  extraordinary  circumstances 
— I  use  the  government  term — she  had  ob 
tained  his  discharge  from  a  military  hospital 
and  had  brought  him  to  the  San  to  mend. 

"The  wounds  are  slow  in  closing,  and 
there's  some  nervous  trouble,"  Miss  Maxwell 
explained  to  Sheila.  "The  boy's  face  is 
rather  tragic.  Will  you  take  the  case?" 

She  accepted  with  her  usual  curt  nod  and 
a  hasty  departure  for  her  uniform.  A  half- 
hour  later  she  was  back  in  the  Surgical,  her 

161 


LEERIE 

fear  as  well  as  her  happiness  forgotten  in  the 
call  of  another  human  being  in  distress. 
The  superintendent  of  nurses  was  right :  the 
boy's  face  was  tragic,  and  a  frail  little  mother 
hovered  over  him  as  if  she  would  breathe  into 
his  lungs  the  last  breath  from  her  own.  She 
looked  up  wistfully,  a  little  fearsomely,  as 
Sheila  entered ;  then  a  smile  of  thanksgiving 
swept  her  face  like  a  flash  of  sunlight. 

"Oh,  I'm  so  glad!  I  remember  you  well. 
I  hoped — but  it  hardly  seemed  possible — I 
didn't  dare  really  to  expect  it.  When  I  was 
here  before,  you  were  always  so  needed,  and 
my  boy — of  course  there  is  nothing  serious — 
only — "  and  the  shaking  voice  ended  as 
incoherently  as  it  had  begun. 

The  nurse  took  the  withered  hands  held  out 
to  her  in  her  young,  warm  ones.  In  an  in 
stant  she  saw  all  that  the  little  mother  had 
been  through — the  renunciation  months  be 
fore  when  she  had  given  her  boy  up  to  his 
country ;  the  long,  weary  weeks  of  learning  to 
do  without  him;  the  schooling  it  had  taken 
to  grow  patient,  waiting  for  the  letters  that 
came  sparingly  or  not  at  all ;  and  at  last  the 
news  that  he  was  at  the  front,  under  fire, 
when  the  papers  published  all  the  news  there 

162 


THE   LAST   OF  THE   SURGICAL 

was  to  be  told.  Sheila  saw  it  all,  even  to  her 
blind,  frantic  groping  for  the  God  she  had 
only  half  known  and  into  whose  hands  she 
had  never  wholly  given  the  keeping  of  her 
loved  ones.  And  after  that  the  cable  and 
the  waiting  for  what  was  left  of  her  boy  to 
come  home  to  her.  As  she  looked  down  at 
her,  Sheila  had  the  strange  feeling  that  this 
frail  little  mother  was  dividing  the  care  of 
her  boy  between  God  and  herself,  and  she 
smiled  unconsciously  at  this  new  partnership. 

Gently  she  laid  her  hand  on  the  lean, 
brown  one  resting  on  the  coverlet;  the  boy 
opened  his  eyes.  "It's  going  to  be  fine  to 
have  a  soldier  for  a  patient;  I  expect  you 
know  how  to  obey  orders.  You  are  our  first, 
and  we're  going  to  make  your  getting  well 
just  the  happiest  time  in  all  your  life,  the 
little  mother  and  I." 

The  boy  made  no  response.  He  looked  at 
his  mother  as  if  he  understood,  and  then  with 
a  groan  of  utter  misery  he  turned  away  his 
head  and  closed  his  eyes  again.  "Ah-h-h!" 
thought  Sheila,  and  a  little  later  she  drew  the 
mother  into  the  corridor  beyond  earshot. 

"There's  something  ailing  him  besides 
wounds.  What  is  it?" 

163 


LEERIE 

"Clarisse."  The  promptness  of  the  an 
swer  brought  considerable  relief  to  the  nurse. 
It  was  easy  to  deal  with  the  things  one  knew ; 
it  was  the  hidden  things,  tucked  away  in  the 
corners  of  the  subconscious  mind  or  the  super- 
sensitive  soul,  that  never  saw  the  light  of 
open  confession,  that  were  the  baffling  ob 
stacles  to  nursing.  Sheila  never  dreaded 
what  she  knew. 

"Well,  what's  the  matter  with  Clarisse?" 
she  asked,  cheerfully. 

The  little  mother  hesitated.  Evidently 
it  was  hard  to  put  it  into  words.  "They're 
engaged,  she  and  Phil,  and  Phil  doesn't  want 
to  see  her,  shrinks  from  the  very  thought  of 
it.  That's  what's  keeping  him  from  getting 
better,  I  think.  She's  very  young  and  oh, 
so  pretty.  They  were  both  young  when  Phil 
went  away — but  Phil — "  She  stopped  and 
passed  a  fluttering  hand  across  her  forehead ; 
her  lips  quivered  the  barest  bit.  "Phil  has 
come  back  so  old.  That's  what  war  does  for 
our  boys ;  in  just  a  few  months  it  turns  them 
into  old  men,  the  serious  ones — and  their  eyes 
are  older  than  any  living  person's  I  ever  saw." 

"And  Clarisse  is  still  young.  I  think  I 
understand." 

164 


THE   LAST   OF   THE   SURGICAL 

"That's  why  I  brought  him  here.  In  the 
city  there  would  have  been  no  reason  for  her 
not  coming  to  the  hospital,  but  she  couldn't 
come  here  unless  we  sent  for  her — could  she?" 
Again  the  fluttering  hand  groped  as  if  to  un 
tangle  the  complexity  of  thoughts  and  feel 
ings  in  the  poor  confused  head.  "  I  write  her 
letters.  I  make  them  just  as  pleasant  as  I 
can.  I  don't  want  to  hurt  her;  she's  so 
young." 

Sheila  nodded.  "Does  he  love  her?" 
That  was  the  most  important,  for  to  Sheila 
love  was  the  key  that  could  spring  the  lock 
of  every  barrier. 

"He  did,  and  I  think  she  loves  him — I 
think—" 

Sheila  went  back  to  her  patient  and  began 
the  welding  of  a  comradeship  that  only  such 
a  woman  can  weld  when  her  heart  is  full  with 
love  for  another  man.  Day  by  day  she  made 
him  talk  more.  He  told  her  of  his  soldiering ; 
apparently  everything  that  had  happened 
before  held  little  or  no  place  in  his  scheme  of 
life,  and  he  told  it  as  simply  and  directly  as 
if  he  had  been  a  child.  He  made  her  see  the 
months  of  training  in  camp,  when  he  grew 
to  know  his  company  and  feel  for  the  first 

165 


LEERIE 

time  what  the  brotherhood  of  arms  meant. 
He  told  of  the  excitement  of  departure,  the 
spiritual  thrill  of  marching  forth  to  war  with 
the  heart  of  a  crusader  in  every  boy's  breast. 
His  eyes  shone  when  he  spoke  of  their  renun 
ciation,  of  the  glory  of  putting  behind  them 
home  and  love  until  the  world  should  be 
made  clean  again  and  fit  for  happiness. 

Sheila  winced  at  this,  but  the  boy  did  not 
notice;  he  was  too  absorbed  in  the  things  he 
had  to  tell. 

He  told  of  the  days  of  waiting  in  France, 
with  the  battle-front  before  them  like  a  mam 
moth  drop  -  curtain,  screening  the  biggest 
drama  their  lives  would  ever  know.  ''There 
we  were,  marking  time  with  the  big  guns, 
wondering  if  our  turn  would  come  next. 
That  was  a  glorious  feeling,  worth  all  that 
came  afterward — when  the  curtain  went  up 
for  us." 

He  raised  himself  011  an  elbow  and  looked 
into  Sheila's  cool,  gray  eyes  with  eyes  that 
burned  of  battle.  "God!  I  can't  tell  you 
about  it.  There  have  been  millions  of  war 
books  written  by  men  who  have  seen  more 
than  I  have  and  who  have  the  trick  of  words 
—and  you've  probably  read  them;  you 

166 


THE   LAST   OF   THE   SURGICAL 

know.  Only  reading  isn't  seeing  it;  it  isn't 
living  it"  He  turned  quickly,  shooting  out 
a  hand  and  gripping  hers  hard.  "Tell  me; 
you've  seen  all  sorts  of  operations — horrible 
ones,  where  they  take  out  great  pieces  of 
malignant  stuff  that  is  eating  the  life  out  of  a 
man.  You've  seen  that?" 

The  nurse  nodded. 

"Did  you  forget  it  afterward,  when  the 
body  was  clean  and  whole  again?  Could  you 
forget  the  thing  that  had  been  there?  For 
that's  war.  That's  what  we're  fighting,  the 
thing  that's  eating  into  the  heart  of  a  decent, 
sound  world,  and  since  I've  seen  the  horror  of 
it  I  can't  forget.  I  can't  see  the  healing — 
yet." 

"You  will.  Not  at  first,  perhaps,  but 
when  you're  stronger.  That  is  one  of  God's 
blessed  plans:  He  made  beauty  to  be  im 
mortal  and  ugliness  to  die  and  be  forgotten. 
And  even  the  scars  where  ugliness  was  time 
whitens  and  obliterates.  Give  time  its 
chance." 

It  was  the  next  day  that  the  boy  spoke  of 
Clarisse.  "Will  time  make  them  all  right, 
too?  Leerie,"  he  had  picked  up  the  nick 
name  from  the  other  nurses  and  appropriated 

12  167 


LEERIE 

it  with  all  the  ardent  affection  of  worshiping 
youth,  "we're  miles — ages — apart.  Can  any 
thing  under  God's  canopy  bring  us  together, 
I  wonder?" 

"Perhaps."  Sheila  smiled  her  old  in 
scrutable  smile.  "Tell  me  more." 

And  so  he  told  her  of  the  girl  who  was  so 
young,  and  oh,  so  pretty.  It  had  all  seemed 
right  before  he  had  gone  to  camp ;  it  was  the 
great  love  for  him,  something  that  had  made 
his  going  seem  the  worthier.  But  at  camp 
the  distance  between  them  had  begun  to 
widen,  her  letters  had  failed  to  bridge  it,  and 
through  those  letters  he  had  discovered  a  new 
angle  of  her,  an  angle  so  acute  that  it  had 
cut  straight  to  the  heart  and  destroyed  all 
the  love  that  had  been  there.  At  least  that 
was  what  he  thought. 

"I  knew  she  was  young,  of  course,  not 
much  more  than  a  child,  and  I  knew  she  loved 
fun  and  good  times,  and  all  that,  but  - 
Why,  she'd  write  about  week-end  parties, 
and  how  becoming  her  bathing-suit  was,  and 
what  Tommy  Flint  said  about  her  fox-trot 
ting.  Lord!"  He  writhed  under  the  cover 
let  and  ground  his  nails  into  his  palms. 
"We  marched  through  places  where  there 

168 


THE   LAST  OF   THE   SURGICAL 

wasn't  a  shred  of  anything  left  for  anybody. 
We  saw  old  women  hanging  on  to  broken 
platters  and  empty  bird-cages  because  it  was 
all  they  had  left — home,  children,  everything 
gone.  And  on  top  of  that  would  come  a 
letter  telling  how  much  she'd  spent  on  an 
evening  gown,  and  how  Bob  Wylie  took  them 
out  to  Riverdale  and  blew  in  a  hundred  and 
twenty  dollars  on  the  day's  trip.  A  hundred 
and  twenty  dollars !  That  would  have  bought 
a  young  ocean  of  milk  over  there  for  the 
refugee  kids  I  saw  starving." 

He  jerked  himself  up  suddenly  and  sat 
huddled  over,  his  eyes  kindling  with  a  vision 
of  purging  the  world.  Sheila  knew  it  was 
useless  to  stop  him,  so  she  propped  him  up 
with  pillows  and  let  him  go  on. 

"And  that  wasn't  all.  Between  the  lulls 
in  the  fighting  they  moved  us  along  to  a 
quiet  sector,  to  freshen  up,  where  we  were 
so  close  to  the  German  side  that  we  could 
look  into  one  of  their  captured  villages. 
There  we  could  see  the  French  girls  they'd 
carried  off  going  out  to  work,  saw  them  cor 
ralled  at  night  like—  He  broke  off,  hesi 
tated,  then  went  doggedly  on.  "With  field- 
glasses  we  could  see  them  plainly,  the  loads 

169 


LEERIE 

they  had  to  lift  and  carry,  the  beatings  they 
got,  the  look  in  their  faces.  Their  shoulders 
were  crooked,  their  backs  bent  from  the  long 
slaving.  They  were  wraiths,  most  of  them — 
and  some  with  babies  at  their  breasts.  After 
I  got  back  from  seeing  that,  I  found  another 
letter  from  Clarisse.  She  said  the  girls  just 
couldn't  buckle  down  to  much  Red  Cross 
work ;  it  was  so  hard  to  do  anything  much  in 
summer.  They'd  no  sooner  get  started  than 
some  one  would  say  tennis  or  a  swim.  And 
I  saw  women  dying  over  there — and 
bearing  Boche  babies!" 

All  the  agony  of  soul  that  youth  can  com 
pass  was  poured  forth  in  those  last  words. 
The  boy  leaned  back  on  his  pillows,  weary 
unto  death  with  the  hopelessness  of  it  all. 
So  Sheila  let  him  lie  for  a  while  before  she 
answered  him. 

"Do  the  boys  want  their  girls  to  know  the 
full  horror  of  it  all?  I  thought  that  was  one 
of  the  things  you  were  fighting  for,  to  keep 
as  much  of  it  away  from  them  as  you  could." 

The  boy  raised  a  hand  in  protest,  but 
Sheila  silenced  him.  "Wait  a  minute;  it's 
my  turn  to  talk  now.  I  know  what's  in  your 
mind.  You  think  that  Clarisse  —  and  the 

170 


THE   LAST   OF   THE   SURGICAL 

girls  like  her — are  showing  unforgivable  cal 
lousness  and  flippancy  in  the  face  of  this 
world  tragedy.  Instead  of  becoming  women 
as  you  have  become  men,  they  stay  silly, 
unthinking,  irresponsible  creatures  who  dance 
and  play  and  laugh  while  you  fight  and  die. 
The  contrast  is  too  colossal ;  it  all  seems  past 
remedy.  Isn't  that  so?  Well,  there's  an 
other  side,  a  side  you  haven't  thought  of. 
The  girls  are  giving  you  up.  The  little  they 
know  of  life,  as  it  is  now,  looks  very  over 
whelming  to  them.  Perhaps  it  frightens 
them.  And  what  do  frightened  children  do 
in  the  dark?" 

The  boy  did  not  try  to  answer;  he  waited, 
tensely  eager. 

"Why,  they  sing;  they  laugh  little  short- 
breathed  laughs;  they  tell  stories  to  them 
selves  of  nonsensical  things  to  reassure  them. 
All  the  time  they  are  trying  not  to  think  of 
what  terrors  the  dark  may  hold;  they  are 
trying  not  to  cry  out  for  some  one  to  come 
and  sit  with  them.  Some  of  our  girls  are 
doing  a  tremendous  work.  They  meet  trains 
at  all  hours  of  the  day  or  night  and  feed  the 
boys  before  they  sail ;  they  wait  all  day  in  the 
canteens  until  they're  ready  to  drop;  they 

171 


LEERIE 

put  in  a  lot  more  time,  making  comfort-kits, 
knitting,  and  rolling  bandages,  than  they 
ever  own  to.  And  suppose  they  don't  grow 
dreadfully  serious;  isn't  it  better  that  way? 
The  girls  are  doing  their  bit  as  fast  as  they 
are  learning  how.  It  isn't  fair  of  the  boys  to 
judge  them  too  soon.  It  isn't  fair  of  you  to 
judge  your  Clarisse  without  giving  her  a 
chance." 

"You  didn't  read  those  letters." 

"Letters!  Most  of  us,  when  we  write, 
keep  back  the  things  that  really  matter  and 
skim  off  the  surface  of  our  lives  to  tell  about. 
There  may  not  be  the  sixteenth  part  of  your 
girl  in  those  letters." 

The  boy's  lips  tightened  stubbornly.  "It 
wasn't  just  one — it  was  all  of  them.  Any 
how,  I  haven't  the  nerve  or  the  heart  to 
find  out." 

Again  Sheila  let  the  silence  fall  between 
them.  When  she  spoke,  her  voice  was  very 
tender.  "Tell  me,  boy,  what  made  you  love 
her?" 

He  smiled  sheepishly.  "Oh,  I  don't  know. 
She  was  always  a  good  sport,  never  got 
grumpy  over  things  that  happened,  never  got 
cold  feet,  either.  She  had  a  way  of  teasing 

172 


THE   LAST   OF   THE   SURGICAL 

you  to  do  what  she  wanted,  would  do  any 
thing  to  get  her  way;  and  then  she'd  turn 
about  so  quickly  and  give  you  your  way,  after 
all — just  make  you  take  it.  And  she'd  be 
so  awfully  sweet  about  it,  too.  And  she'd 
always  play  fair,  and  she  had  a  way  of  mak 
ing  you  feel  the  best  ever.  Oh,  I  don't 
know — "  The  boy  looked  about  him  help 
lessly.  "They  sound  awfully  foolish  reasons 
for  loving  a  girl." 

Sheila's  face  had  become  suddenly  radi 
ant;  her  eyes  sparkled  like  rushlights  in  a 
wind.  They  actually  startled  the  boy  so 
that  he  straightened  up  in  bed  again  and 
gripped  her  hand.  "I  say,  Leerie,  what  is 
it?  I  never  saw  you  look  like  this  before. 
You're —  Are  you  in  love?" 

"With  one  of  the  finest  men  God  ever 
made.  He's  so  fine  that  he  trusted  me 
through  a  terrible  bungle — believed  in  the 
real  woman  in  me  when  I  would  have  denied 
it.  That's  what  a  man's  love  can  do  for  a 
woman  sometimes,  keep  her  true  to  the  best 
in  her." 

That  night,  after  many  fluttering  protests, 
the  little  mother  wrote  a  letter  to  Clarisse. 
It  was  dictated  by  Sheila  and  posted  by  her, 

173 


LEERIE 

and  it  contained  little  information  except 
what  might  have  been  extracted  from  a  non 
committal  railroad  guide.  It  did  mention 
at  the  last,  however,  that  Phil  was  slowly 
gaining. 

With  this  off  her  mind,  Sheila  went  to  find 
Peter.  She  had  characteristically  neglected 
him  since  she  had  been  on  the  case,  and  as 
characteristically  he  made  no  protest.  In 
stead  he  met  her  with  that  quick  understand 
ing  that  she  had  claimed  as  one  of  love's 
ingredients.  He  looked  her  over  well  and 
proudly,  then  tapped  his  head  significantly. 

"  I  see,  there's  more  to  this  soldier-boy  case 
than  just  wounds.  Want  me  to  run  you 
down  the  boulevard  while  you  work  it  out?" 

"Thank  God  for  a  man!"  breathed  Sheila, 
and  then  aloud:  "No,  it's  worked  out.  But 
you  might  run  me  down,  just  the  same." 

"Feels  almost  like  frost  to-night,"  said 
Peter  as  he  put  the  car  into  first.  "Do  you 
think  it  will  hold  pleasant  enough  for — ' 

"For  what?"  Sheila's  tone  sounded  blank. 

Peter  chuckled.  "For  the  gardens  and 
the  old  ladies,  of  course.  Have  you  by  any 
chance  forgotten  that  there's  going  to  be  a 
wedding  in  four  days?" 

174 


THE   LAST   OF   THE   SURGICAL 

"Saturday,  Sunday,  Monday,  Tuesday- 
counted  Sheila.      "Why,   so  it  is!"      Then 
she  echoed  Peter's  chuckle,  "Oh  yes,  there's 
going  to  be  a  wedding,  a  beautiful  wedding  in 
four  days." 

A  strange  little  twinge  took  Peter's  heart 
there  in  the  dark  at  the  queer,  impersonal  note 
in  what  she  had  said.  What  did  it  mean? 

Sheila  gave  the  girl  twenty-four  hours  to 
reach  the  San  after  receiving  the  letter;  she 
came  in  eighteen,  and  the  nurse  rejoiced  at 
this  good  omen.  She  had  delegated  Peter 
to  meet  all  trains  that  day,  take  the  girl  to 
her  room,  send  for  her  at  once,  and  tell  no 
body.  Peter  obeyed,  and  early  in  the  after 
noon  Sheila  looked  up  from  her  reading  to 
the  boy  to  see  Peter  standing  in  the  doorway, 
the  message  on  his  lips. 

"Baggage  delivered,"  was  Peter's  an 
nouncement. 

"Thank  you.  I'll  come  in  a  minute  and 
see  if  my  key  fits."  She  hunted  up  the  little 
mother,  left  her  in  charge,  and  hurried  over  to 
the  nurses'  home. 

There  in  the  big  living-hall,  perched  in  a 
wicker  chair  under  the  poster  of  Old  King 
Cole,  Sheila  found  the  girl,  who  was  young 

175 


LEERIE 

and  oh,  so  pretty.  She  looked  about  as  capa 
ble  of  taking  a  plunge  into  the  grim  depths  of 
life  and  coming  out  safely  as  a  toy  Pom  of 
weathering  the  waters  of  the  Devil's  Hole. 
"How  shall  I  ever  push  her  in?"  thought 
Sheila  as  she  held  out  her  hand  in  greeting. 

Clarisse  took  it  with  all  the  hectic  im 
pulsiveness  of  youth.  "You're  his  nurse. 
Isn't  it  great  his  coming  back  this  way?  All 
our  set  is  engaged — or  about  to  be — but 
I'm  the  only  one  that's  got  her  man  back 
with  battle  scars  all  over  him.  Makes  me 
feel  like  a  story-book  heroine." 

Sheila  O'Leary  didn't  know  whether  she 
wanted  to  laugh  or  cry.  She  ended  by  doing 
what  probably  surprised  her  more  than  it  did 
the  girl.  She  sat  down  in  the  wicker  chair 
herself  and  gathered  the  girl  into  her  lap. 
"Oh,  you  blessed,  blessed  baby!"  she  crooned 
softly. 

The  girl  pouted  adorably.  It  was  very 
evident  that  she  liked  to  be  petted,  coaxed, 
and  spoiled.  If  there  was  a  woman  slumber 
ing  under  all  this  dimpling,  infantile  charm, 
she  was  quite  indiscernible  to  the  woman  who 
held  her. 

Slowly  she  bent  over  the  girl  and  let  her 

176 


THE   LAST   OF   THE   SURGICAL 

face  show  all  the  delight  she  could  feel  in  her 
prettiness  and  baby  ways.  There  must  be 
sympathy  between  them  or  her  task  would 
be  hopeless.  "There,  let  me  untie  that  be 
witching  bonnet  of  yours  and  take  off  your 
gloves.  We  have  a  lot  to  tell  each  other 
before  you  see  your  soldier." 

"But  Phil — won't  he  be  waiting,  wonder 
ing  why  I  don't  come?  Oh,  I'm  just  crazy 
to  see  him!" 

"He  doesn't  know  you're  here  yet." 

"Oh!"  The  smooth,  white  forehead  did 
its  utmost  to  manage  a  frown.  "  Why,  didn't 
he  send  for  me?" 

"No." 

"Who  did?     His  mother  wrote." 

"I  sent." 

The  round,  childish  eyes  filled  with  appre 
hension;  she  wrenched  herself  free  of  Sheila's 
arms.  "He  isn't  going  to —  The  letter 
said—?" 

"He's  better.  Sit  down,  dear.  That's 
what  we  have  to  talk  over.  His  body  is 
mending  fast,  but  his  mind — well,  his  mind 
has  been  taken  prisoner." 

Clarisse  tossed  an  adorable  crown  of 
golden  curls.  "I  don't  understand." 

177 


LEERIE 

"Didn't  expect  you  to,  at  first.  It's  this 
way.  He's  been  through  some  very  big, 
very  terrible  experiences,  and  he  can't  forget 
them.  He  isn't  the  boy  you  used  to  play 
with,  the  boy  who  was  happy  just  having  a 
good  time.  He's  grown  very  serious.  That's 
what  experience  is  likely  to  do  for  us  all  in 
time,  but  with  him  it's  come  all  in  a  heap. 
When  that  happens  you  can't  go  back  and 
be  happy  in  the  old  way.  Do  you  see?" 

"Goon." 

"He's  bound  fast  and  walled  about  with 
the  memories  of  what  he  has  been  through- 
killing  human  beings,  watching  his  comrades 
die,  seeing  what  the  Germans  have  done. 
For  the  moment  it  has  made  him  forget  that 
the  sun  shines  and  birds  sing  and  the  world 
is  a  place  to  be  glad  in.  The  bright  colors 
have  faded  out  of  life  for  him;  everything 
looks  gray  and  somber." 

"Gee!  and  how  he  used  to  like  a  good 
cabaret  with  a  jazz  band!"  The  girl  whis 
pered  it,  and  there  was  awe  in  her  voice. 
"And  colors!  I  had  to  wear  the  gayest 
things  I  had,  to  please  him." 

"Yes,  I  know.  And  he'll  like  them  best 
again,  some  day.  Just  be  patient,  dear. 

178 


THE   LAST   OF   THE   SURGICAL 

And  the  waiting  won't  be  hard,  you'll  have 
so  much  to  do  for  him.  You'll  have  to  be 
bringing  the  sunshine  back,  making  him  listen 
to  the  bird-songs,  teaching  him  how  to  be 
glad,  to  love  doing  all  the  happy,  foolish  boy- 
things  he  used  to  like." 

"I  see — I  can."  The  girl's  voice  was 
breathless. 

"I'm  sure  you  can."  Sheila  tried  to  put 
conviction  into  her  words.  "At  first  you 
may  find  it  a  little  hard.  It  means — " 

"Yes?" 

"It  means  creeping  into  his  prison  with 
him,  so  gently,  so  lovingly,  and  staying  close 
beside  him  while  you  cut  the  memory-cords 
one  by  one.  Could  you  do  that?" 

The  girl  sprang  past  Sheila  toward  the 
door.  "Come!  What  are  we  waiting  for?" 

"But  he  doesn't  know  you  are  here  yet," 
parried  the  nurse. 

"Let's  go  and  tell  him,  then.  He  always 
adored  surprises."  The  dimples  in  her 
cheeks  danced  in  anticipation  while  she  took 
Sheila's  hand  and  tried  to  drag  her  nearer 
the  door.  But  at  the  threshold  something 
in  the  woman's  face  stopped  her.  She  hesi 
tated.  "  Maybe — maybe  he  doesn't  like  sur- 

179 


LEERIE 

prises  any  more."  Again  the  impulsive 
hands  were  thrust  into  the  nurse's.  "Tell 
me,  tell  me  honestly —  You  said  you  sent 
for  me.  Was  it —  Didn't  he  want  me — to 
come?" 

And  Sheila,  remembering  what  the  boy  had 
loved  about  her,  gave  her  back  the  truth: 
"No,  he  has  grown  afraid  of  you.  That's 
another  thing  you  will  have  to  bring  back  to 
him  with  the  songs  and  the  sunlight — his  love 
for  you." 

Her  hand  was  flung  aside  and  the  girl  flew 
past  her,  back  to  the  wicker  chair  under  Old 
King  Cole.  Burying  her  head  in  her  arms, 
she  burst  into  uncontrollable  sobs,  while 
Sheila  stood  motionless  in  the  doorway  and 
waited.  She  must  have  waited  an  hour 
before  the  girl  raised  her  eyes,  wet  as  her 
own.  For  Sheila  knew  that  a  woman's  soul 
was  being  born  into  the  world,  and  none 
understood  better  than  she  what  the  agony 
of  travail  meant  to  the  child  who  was  giving 
it  birth. 

"Come,"  said  Sheila,  gently. 

The  girl  rose  uncertainly;  all  the  divine 
assurance  of  youth  was  gone.  "I  think  I 
see,"  she  began  unsteadily.  "I  think  I  can." 

180 


THE   LAST   OF   THE   SURGICAL 

"I  know  you  can."  And  this  time  there 
was  no  doubt  in  Sheila's  heart. 

She  saw  to  it  that  the  little  mother  had 
been  called  away  before  they  reached  the 
Surgical,  so  that  the  room  was  empty  except 
for  the  occupant  of  the  cot.  "Hello,  boy!" 
she  called,  triumphantly,  from  the  doorway. 
"I  have  brought  you  the  best  present  a  sol 
dier  ever  had,"  and  she  pushed  Clarisse  into 
the  room  and  closed  the  door. 

For  a  moment  those  two  young  creatures 
looked  at  each  other,  overcome  with  con 
fusion  and  the  self-consciousness  of  their  own 
great  change. 

The  boy  spoke  first.     "  Clare !" 

"Phil!"  It  came  in  a  breathless  little  cry, 
like  a  bird's  answer  to  its  mate.  Then  the 
girl  followed.  Across  the  room  she  flew,  to 
the  bed,  and  down  on  her  knees,  hiding  her 
face  deep  in  the  folds  of  coverlet  and  hospital 
shirt.  Words  came  forth  chokingly  at  last, 
like  bubbles  of  air  rising  slowly  to  the 
surface. 

"Those  letters — those  awful  letters!  Just 
foolish  things  that  didn't  matter.  One  of 
the  boys  at  the  canteen — I  used  to  wait  on 
the  table  and  make  believe  every  soldier  I 

181 


LEERIE 

served  was  mine,  and  I  always  wore  my 
prettiest  clothes — he  said — the  boy — that 
over  there  they  didn't  want  anything  but 
light  stuff — those  were  his  words — said  a  chap 
couldn't  stand  hearing  that  his  girl  was 
lonely.  .  .  .  He  said  to  cut  out  all  the  blue 
funks  and  the  worries ;  the  light  stuff  helped 
to  steady  a  chap's  nerve.  So  I— 

And  then  the  boy  lied  like  a  soldier. 
"Don't,  Clare  darling.  I  knew  all  along 
you  were  playing  off  like  a  good  sport.  And 
it  helped  a  lot.  GeeJ  how  it  helped!" 

When  Sheila  looked  in,  hours  later,  the 
girl  was  still  by  the  bed,  her  cheek  on  the 
pillow  beside  the  boy's. 

It  was  a  strangely  illusive  Leerie  that  met 
Peter  that  night  in  the  rest-house  after  the 
ailing  part  of  the  San  had  been  put  safely  to 
bed.  Her  eyes  seemed  to  transcend  the 
stars,  and  her  face  might  have  served  for  a 
young  neophyte.  As  Peter  saw,  for  the  first 
time  he  glimpsed  the  signal  Fate  had  been 
playing  with  so  many  days. 

"  What's  happened?  Anything  wrong  with 
those  cubs?" 

"Nothing.  They're  as  right  as  right  can 
be."  Then  with  the  old  directness  Sheila 

182 


THE   LAST   OF   THE   SURGICAL 

plunged  headlong  into  the  thing  she  knew 
must  be  done.  "Man  of  mine,  I'm  going  to 
hurt  you.  Can  you  forgive  and  still  under 
stand?" 

"I  can  try."  Peter  did  his  best  to  keep 
his  voice  from  sounding  too  heavy,  for  a  fear 
was  gripping  at  his  heart,  and  his  eyes  sought 
Sheila's  face,  pleading  as  he  would  never 
have  let  his  lips  plead. 

Sheila  covered  her  eyes.  She  didn't  want 
to  see.  It  was  too  reminiscent  of  the  little 
boy  lying  awake  in  a  dark  attic,  afraid  of 
sleep.  "We  have  both  done  without  happi 
ness  so  long,  don't  you  think  we  can  do  with 
out  it  a  little  longer?" 

"  I  suppose  so — if  we  must."  Peter's  voice 
was  very  dull.  "But  why?  I've  always  had 
an  idea  that  happiness  was  something  like 
opportunity;  it  had  to  be  snatched  and  held 
fast  when  it  came  your  way,  or  you  might 
never  have  another  chance  at  it."  Had 
Sheila  brought  him  to  the  gates  of  Paradise 
only  to  bar  them  against  his  entering?  he 
wondered. 

The  woman  who  loved  him  understood  and 
laid  her  hand  on  his  breast  as  if  she  would 
stay  the  hurt  there  if  she  could.  "It  may 

13  183 


LEERIE 

make  it  easier  if  you  know  that  the  giving 
up  is  going  to  be  hard  for  me,  too.  I've 
thought  about  that  home  of  ours  so  long  that 
I've  begun  to  see  it  and  all  that  goes  with  it. 
I  even  stumble  upon  it  in  my  dreams.  It's 
always  at  the  end  of  a  long,  tired  road,  going 
uphill.  If  I  thought  I  should  have  to  give 
it  up,  I  wouldn't  have  the  courage  to  do 
what  I'm  going  to  now." 

She  sat  down  on  the  bench,  laid  her  arms 
over  the  sill  of  the  rustic  window,  and  looked 
toward  the  pond.  The  night  was  very  still; 
the  blurred  outlines  of  the  swans,  huddled 
against  the  bank,  were  the  only  signs  of  life. 
When  she  spoke  it  was  almost  to  herself. 

"When  they  sent  me  away  from  the  San 
three  years  ago  I  thought  I  could  never  bear 
it — to  go  away  alone,  that  way,  disgraced,  to 
begin  work  over  again  in  a  strange  place, 
among  strange  people.  But  I  had  to  do  it, 
just  as  I  have  to  do  this."  She  straightened 
and  faced  Peter.  Her  voice  changed;  it  be 
longed  to  the  curt,  determined  Sheila. 

"I'm  going  across,  to  nurse  the  boys  over 
there.  The  boy  over  in  the  Surgical  pointed 
the  way  for  me.  There's  a  big  thing  going 
on  in  the  world — something  almost  as  big  as 

184 


THE  LAST   OF   THE   SURGICAL 

the  war — it's  the  business  of  getting  the  boys 
ready  for  life  after  their  share  in  the  war  is 
over,  and  I  don't  mean  just  nursing  their 
bodies  back  to  health.  Everything  is  changed 
for  them;  they've  got  new  standards,  new  in 
terests,  new  hearts,  new  souls,  and  v/e  women 
have  got  to  keep  pace  with  them.  And  we 
mustn't  fail  them — don't  you  see  that?  Oh, 
I  know  I  have  no  place  of  my  own  in  the  war : 
you  are  safe,  and  I  have  no  brothers.  But 
I'm  a  woman — a  nurse,  thank  God!  And 
I'm  free  to  go  for  the  mothers  and  sweet 
hearts  who  can't.  Don't  you  understand?" 

And  Peter  answered  from  an  overwhelm 
ingly  full  and  troubled  heart,  "Oh  yes,  I 
understand." 

"  I  knew  you  would."  Sheila  raised  starry 
eyes  to  the  man  who  had  never  failed  her. 
"Those  boys  will  need  all  the  sympathy,  all 
the  wholesome  tenderness  we  can  send  across 
to  them,  and  they'll  need  our  hands  at  their 
backs  until  they  get  their  foothold  again. 
I've  served  my  apprenticeship  at  that  so  long 
I  can  do  it." 

Peter  gathered  her  close  in  his  arms. 
"God  and  I  know  how  well." 

It  was  not  until  they  were  leaving  the  gar- 

185 


LEERIE 

dens  that  Peter  asked  the  question  that  had 
been  in  his  mind  all  through  the  evening. 
"  What  about  the  wedding?  I  suppose  you're 
not  going  to  marry  me,  now." 

"Can't.  Haven't  the  courage.  Man  of 
mine,  don't  you  know  that  after  I  once  be 
longed  to  you  I  couldn't  leave  you?  I've 
only  had  sips  of  happiness  so  far.  If  I  once 
drained  the  cup,  only  God's  hand  could  take 
it  from  me." 

"And  the  wedding?  The  old  San's  just 
set  its  heart  on  that  wedding." 

The  radiant  smile  crept  back  to  Sheila's 
lips.  Even  in  the  dark  Peter  could  tell  that 
the  old  luminous  Leerie  was  beside  him  once 
more.  "Why,  that's  one  of  the  nicest  parts 
of  it  all.  We're  going  to  pass  our  wedding 
on  to  those  children — make  them  a  sort  of 
wedding-present  of  it.  Won't  that  be 
splendid?" 

"Oh  yes,"  said  Peter,  without  enthusi 
asm.  "Does  it  suit  them?" 

"They  don't  know  yet.  Guess  I'd  better 
go  and  tell  them." 

It  is  doubtful  if  anybody  but  Sheila 
O'Leary  could  have  managed  such  an  affair 
and  left  every  one  reasonably  happy  over  it 

186 


THE   LAST   OF  THE   SURGICAL 

— ;wo  of  them  unreasonably  so.  She  ac- 
cep  ted  the  wedding  collation  bestowed  by  the 
wealthy  old  ladies  of  the  sanitarium  and 
passed  it  over  to  the  boy  and  his  betrothed 
as  if  it  had  been  as  trivial  a  gift  as  an  ice 
cream  cone.  In  a  like  manner  she  passed  on 
the  trousseau,  kissed  all  the  nurses  raptur 
ously  for  their  work,  and  piled  it  all  into 
Clarisse's  arms  with  the  remark  that  it  was 
lucky  they  were  so  nearly  of  a  size.  When 
she  brought  the  wedding-dress  she  kissed  her, 
too,  and  said  that  she  was  going  to  make  the 
prettiest  picture  in  it  that  the  San  or  the 
soldier  had  seen  in  years.  She  placated  the 
management;  she  wheedled  Miss  Maxwell 
into  a  good  humor;  she  even  coaxed  Doctor 
Fuller  into  giving  away  the  bride.  Only 
Hennessy  refused  to  be  propitiated. 

"Are  ye  thinkin'  of  givin'  Mr.  Brooks 
away  with  everythin'  else?"  he  asked,  scorn 
fully;  and  then,  his  indignation  rising  to  a 
white  wrath,  he  shouted,  "I'll  not  put  bows 
on  the  swans,  an'  I'll  not  come  to  any 
second-hand  weddin'." 

But  he  did  come,  and  held  with  Flanders 
the  satin  ribbons  they  had  promised  to  hold 
for  Sheila.  And  the  wedding  became  one  of 

187 


LEERIE 

the  greenest  of  all  the  memories  that  1  ad 
gone  down  on  the  San  books. 

As  the  sun  clipped  the  far-away  hills  the 
boy  was  wheeled  down  the  paths  to  where  the 
gold  and  white  of  early  roses  were  massed  in 
summer  splendor.  Then  came  the  girl  with 
Sheila  at  her  side;  the  girl  had  begged  too 
hard  to  be  refused.  But  Sheila's  face  was  as 
white  as  it  had  been  the  day  they  operated  on 
Doctor  Dempsy,  and  only  Peter  guessed 
what  it  cost  her  to  stand  with  the  bride. 
To  Peter's  care  had  been  intrusted  the  little 
mother,  and  he  let  her  weep  continually  on 
his  shoulder  in  between  the  laughs  he  kept 
bringing  to  her  lips. 

And  it  all  ended  merrily.  Sheila  saw  to 
that.  But  perhaps  the  thing  that  gave  her 
the  keenest  pleasure  was  wheedling  out  of 
Mr.  Crotchets  his  bungalow  that  stood  on 
the  slopes  beyond  the  golf-links  for  a  honey 
moon. 

"They'll  have  all  the  quiet  they  want  and 
the  care  he  still  needs,"  she  told  Peter  when 
they  were  alone.  "And  nobody  but  the 
nurse  in  charge  knows  about  it — yet."  Then 
seeing  the  great  longing  in  Peter's  eyes,  she 
drew  him  away  from  the  crowd.  "Listen, 

188 


man  of  mine !  I  have  the  feeling  that  when 
we  are  married  there  will  be  no  wedding,  just 
you  and  I  and  the  preacher.  And  in  my 
heart  I  like  it  better  that  way." 

"So  do  I,"  agreed  Peter. 

"I'm  leaving — train  to-night,"  Sheila  hur 
ried  on.  "No  use  putting  it  off;  better  sail 
as  soon  as  the  passport's  ready.  There's 
just  one  thing  more  I  want  to  say  before  I 
leave  you." 

Then  Peter  chuckled  for  the  first  time  that 
day.  "You  can  say  it,  of  course,  but  if  you 
think  you're  going  to  leave  me  behind,  you're 
mistaken.  I  wired  the  chief  the  day  you  told 
me.  They  need  another  correspondent  over 
there.  When  it  comes  to  passports  there  is 
some  advantage  in  not  being  a  husband,  after 
all.  Well — are  you  glad?" 

When  Hennessy  came  upon  them,  a  few 
minutes  later,  they  looked  so  supremely 
happy  and  oblivious  of  the  rest  of  the  world 
that  he  was  forced  to  stop.  "  Sure,  ye  might 
be  the  bride  an'  groom,  afther  all,  by  the  looks 
of  ye.  What's  come  over  ye  all  of  a  sudden?" 
And  when  Peter  told  him,  and  they  both  put 
their  hands  in  Hennessy's  in  final  parting,  he 
shirred  his  lips  and  whistled  forth  evidence  of 

189 


LEERIE 

a  satisfied  emotion  to  which  he  added  a  word 
of  warning  to  Peter : 

"I'm  not  envyin'  ye,  just  the  same,  Mr. 
Brooks.  Afore  ye  get  her  home  again  ye'll 
find  the  Irish  say  right,  'A  woman's  more 
throuble  to  look  afther  than  a  thorn  in  the 
foot  or  a  goat  fetched  back  from  the  fair! '  " 


Chapter  VI 

MONSIEUR  SATAN 

had  been  nothing,  perhaps,  more 
JL  radically  changed  by  the  rigors  of  war 
than  Atlantic  transportation.  The  thrills  of 
pleasure  and  romance  that  attended  the 
tourist  in  the  days  before  the  war  had  deep 
ened  to  thrills  of  another  timbre,  while  ro 
mance  had  become  more  epic  than  idyllic. 
The  happy  phrase  of  "going  abroad"  had 
given  place  to  "going  over"  or  "going 
across";  such  a  trifling  difference  in  words, 
but  the  accompaniment  comes  in  quite  an 
other  key.  It  was  no  longer  shouted  in  a 
care-free,  happy-go-lucky  fashion;  it  may 
have  had  a  ring  of  suppressed  exultation; 
but  it  was  sure  to  be  whispered  with  a  quick 
intake  of  breath,  and  so  often  it  came 
through  teeth  that  were  clenched. 

The  piers  had  changed  their  gala  attire. 
The  departure  from  this  country  for  another 
was  no  longer  a  matter  of  mere  rejoicing  and 

191 


LEERIE 

congratulatory  leave-taking.  The  gangways 
no  longer  swarmed  with  friends  shouting, 
"Bon  voyage!"  There  was  no  free  voicing 
of  anticipation,  no  effervescing  of  good  hu 
mor.  The  Spirit  of  Adventure  was  there, 
but  he  had  changed  his  costume  and  his 
make-up.  So  had  the  good  ships.  Their 
black  paint  and  white  trimmings  were  gone; 
gone  were  the  gay  red  funnels;  and  in  their 
stead  were  massed  the  grays  and  blues,  the 
greens  and  blacks  of  camouflage.  The  piers 
were  deserted.  A  thin  stream  of  travelers 
sifted  in ;  there  were  a  few  officials  and  deck 
hands;  and  far  outside,  beyond  hail  of  ship 
or  sea  or  traveler,  in  a  barbed-wire  inclosure, 
guarded  by  military  police,  stood  a  few  scat 
tered,  silent  figures.  They  were  the  rem 
nants  war  had  left  of  the  once-upon-a-time 
jocose  band  of  waving,  shouting  friends. 

All  this  Sheila  O'Leary  felt  as  she  stood  on 
the  upper  deck  of  a  French  liner  with  Peter 
Brooks  and  watched  their  fellow-passengers 
board  the  ship.  She  was  tingling  from  head 
to  foot  with  almost  as  many  emotions  as 
there  are  ganglia  in  the  nervous  system.  It 
was  as  if  she  had  suddenly  claimed  the  world 
for  a  patient  and  had  laid  fingers  to  its  pulse 

192 


MONSIEUR   SATAN 


for  the  first  time.  Eagerly,  impatiently,  she 
was  waiting  to  count  each  successive  beat 
until  she  should  be  able  to  read  into  the 
throbbing  rhythm  of  it  all  a  meaning  for 
herself. 

As  Sheila  thought  in  terms  of  her  work,  so 
Peter  thought  in  terms  of  his.  It  was  all 
copy  to  him.  Each  group  that  followed 
another  up  the  gangway  carried  the  promise 
of  a  story  to  Peter.  There  were  Red  Cross 
nurses,  canteen  workers,  a  college  unit  for 
reconstruction  work,  a  hospital  unit,  scores 
of  detached  American  officers  going  over  for 
the  first  time,  scores  of  French  and  British 
returning,  a  few  foreigners  getting  back  to 
their  respective  countries,  and  hosts  of  non 
descripts  whose  civilian  clothes  gave  no  hint 
of  their  missions.  Last  of  all  came  a  sudden, 
swift  influx  of  celestial  blue. 

Peter  smiled  at  them  with  anticipation, 
''Look,  Leerie,  the  Blue  Devils  of  France! 
There  ought  to  be  the  making  of  a  good 
yarn.'* 

But  Sheila  barely  heard.  The  mass  had 
captured  her  imagination  on  the  instant  with 
a  dramatic  intensity  too  overpowering  to  be 
denied.  Unconsciously  she  smiled.  They 

193 


LEERIE 

were  going  back  to  fight  again — to  be 
wounded.  Who  knew — in  a  month  she  might 
be  nursing  some  of  them.  The  Blue  Devils 
had  reached  the  gangway;  they  were  just 
below  them  when  one  looked  up.  Black 
eyes  as  unfathomable  as  forest  pools  looked 
into  Sheila's  quiet  gray  ones.  For  a  moment 
there  was  almost  a  greeting  flashed  between 
them ;  as  if  they  recognized  something  com 
mon  to  them  both  that  lay  in  the  past  or  the 
future.  It  was  one  of  those  gossamer  threads 
of  fate  that  a  few  glimpse  rarely  in  their 
lives. 

Peter  saw,  and  was  on  the  point  of  giving 
tongue  to  his  astonishment  when  a  voice 
from  behind  interrupted  them:  "The  ship 
sails  at  ten;  it  lacks  thirty  seconds  of 
that.  There  is  the  typical  instance  of  the 
way  these  Devils  obey  their  orders.  Is  it 
not  so?" 

The  voice  savored  of  France.  Sheila  and 
Peter  turned  together  to  find  a  little  man, 
with  a  small,  pleasant  face,  topped  with 
shaggy  brown  hair,  and  dabs  of  mustache 
and  beard  placed  like  a  colon  under  his  nose. 
His  shrug  was  the  conclusive  evidence  of  his 
nationality. 

194 


MONSIEUR   SATAN 


"Well,  thirty  seconds  is  enough,"  laughed 
Sheila.  "Time  is  as  precious  as  food,  gold,  or 
gunpowder  these  days.  Why  waste  it?" 

"And  men,"  supplemented  the  little  man. 
"Perhaps,  mad'moiselle  already  knows  Ber- 
trand  Fauchet,  the  young  captain  who  passed 
below?" 

Sheila  shook  her  head. 

The  little  man  rubbed  his  hands  together 
in  keen  enjoyment.  "Ah,  there  is  a  man; 
but  they  are  all  men.  The  Boches  have 
named  them  well.  They  fight  like  demons, 
then  they  rest  and  play  like  children  until 
their  turn  comes  to  fight  again.  And  Fau 
chet — he  is  a  devil  of  a  devil,  possessed  of  a 
thousand  lives.  Mad'moiselle  would  adore 
him." 

Sheila's  demure  chin  tilted  mutinously, 
"But  I  don't  like  devils,  even  blue  ones." 

"Ah,  you  do  not  understand.  C'est  la 
guerre.  We  must  lock  away  in  our  hearts  all 
the  pity,  all  the  tenderness,  as  we  hide  our 
jewels  and  our  treasures  and  mask  our  cathe 
drals.  If  we  did  not  they  would  all  be  de 
stroyed  and  we  would  go  quite  mad."  He 
smiled  whimsically  at  Sheila,  as  one  smiles 
at  a  child  who  fails  to  comprehend.  "  Wait — . 

195 


LEERIE 

wait  till  mad'moiselle  sees  France.  Then — " 
He  finished  with  a  shrug  and  left  them. 

They  were  in  midstream  when  they  saw 
the  little  man  again.  He  came  hurrying 
toward  them  with  both  hands  outstretched 
to  Peter.  "  It  is  Mr.  Brooks.  I  did  not  know 
when  I  was  speaking  with  you  and  mad'moi 
selle  before.  They  told  me  at  the  office  of 
your  paper  that  you  would  be  sailing  to-day. 
May  I  present  Jacques  Marchand  of  the 
Figaro,  a  fellow- journalist?"  and  he  made  a 
profound  bow  which  included  Sheila. 

Peter  introduced  the  girl  beside  him  and 
the  little  man  looked  at  her  with  whetted 
interest  and  a  twinkle  of  suppressed  humor. 
"You  women  of  America,  you  come  like 
battalions  of  good  angels  to  nurse  our  devils. 
Eh  bien,  before  the  sun  goes  down  you  shall 
meet  your  first  one.  Au  Voir  till  then." 

They  were  in  the  stern,  watching  the  last 
of  the  sun  in  their  wake  as  it  turned  myriads 
of  whirring  wings  to  iridescent  gold,  when 
the  little  man  found  them  again.  This  time 
he  was  not  alone.  Close  upon  his  heels  came 
the  captain  of  the  Blue  Devils;  and  again 
the  black  eyes  met  Sheila's  when  they  were 
still  a  man's  length  apart. 

196 


MONSIEUR   SATAN 


"Mad'moiselle,"  said  Jacques  Marchand, 
"I  have  brought,  as  I  promised — Monsieur 
Satan — Mad'moiselle  O'Leary.  Look  him 
well  over ;  you  will  see  he  has  not  the  horns  or 
cloven  feet,  nevertheless — mais,  voila." 

The  captain  was  blushing  like  a  very 
bashful  little  boy;  he  was  smiling  as  naively 
as  an  infant.  Sheila  guessed  at  his  age  and 
placed  it  not  far  from  twenty.  Who  had 
ever  conceived  of  a  boy-Mephistopheles?  It 
was  absurd.  A  genuine  diabolical  person 
age  had  no  right  to  a  pre-middle  age;  for 
him  all  years  prior  to  forty  should  not  exist. 
And  here  was  undeniably  a  boy,  whose  very 
bashfulness  and  naivete  bore  witness  that 
he  had  not  entirely  grown  up.  So  Sheila 
smiled  back  upon  him  with  the  frankness  and 
abandon  one  feels  so  safe  in  bestowing  upon 
youth. 

''This  paper-man,  he  likes  to  be  what  you 
call  funny.  It  pays  him  well,  and  he  must 
keep,  what  you  say,  his  feet  in.  But  I  do 
not  like  always  his  little  jokes.  I  will  make 
a  new  introduce  so.  Bertrand  Fauchet, 
capitaine  Chasseurs  Alpins,  very  much  at 
your  service,  ma'am'selle."  The  soldier 
bowed  with  solemnity.  It  was  evident  he 

197 


LEERIE 

felt  his  dignity  had  been  trampled  on  and 
resented  it. 

The  little  man  of  the  Figaro  wagged  a 
forefinger  at  him.  "Ah,  tata,  gargon.  Re 
member,  I  am  your  godfather  in  the  bat 
talion.  It  is  I  that  give  you  the  name. 
Three  years  ago  in  the  Cafe  des  Alcazar  I 
call  you  Monsieur  Satan,  and  it  stick.  You 
cannot  rub  it  off;  you  cannot  make  France 
forget  it ;  and  when  you  come  back  so  fierce — 
so  terrific  from  the  fighting  at  Troyes  where 
you  get  the  Croix  de  Guerre  it  is  not  for 
Capitaine  Fauchet  the  men  shout — non.  It 
is  for  Monsieur  Satan  they  shout,  for  the 
devil  of  a  Blue  Devil.  Eh,  mon  ami?" 
And  he  laid  a  loving  arm  across  the  other's 
shoulder. 

During  the  crossing  the  four  met  often; 
the  journalist  always  kindly  and  loquacious, 
Monsieur  Satan  always  shy.  Sometimes  he 
joined  Sheila  alone  for  an  after-dinner  prom 
enade.  It  was  always  at  that  hour  when  the 
day  was  fading  into  a  luminous  twilight  that 
told  of  stars  to  come,  and  they  tramped  the 
decks  in  a  strange,  companionable  silence. 
It  was  plain  that  Monsieur  Satan  did  not 
wish  to  talk,  and  Sheila  gave  him  freely  the 

198 


MONSIEUR   SATAN 


silence  he  craved.  Once  he  stopped  and 
looked  over  the  railing,  hard  at  the  sea 
horizon. 

''Did  you  ever  think,  ma'am'selle,"  he  said, 
softly,  "how  the  great  ocean  shows  nothing 
of  the  war?  The  underneath  may  be  choked 
with  sunken  ships,  the  murdered  ships,  but 
the  ocean  has  no  scars.  It  is  not  like  our 
sorrowful  France — all  scars.  So — I  find  it 
good  to  look  at  this  and  forget.  Perhaps, 
some  day,  a  peace  like  this  will  come  to  the 
heart  of  Bertrand  Fauchet.  Qui  savez?" 

And  another  time,  when  he  was  wishing 
her  good  night,  he  added:  "Dormez  bien — 
sans  songes,  ma'am'selle.  The  dreams,  they 
are  bad." 

But  generally  he  left  her  with  just  a  press 
ure  of  the  hand  arid  an  "Au  Vo/r."  And 
yet  there  was  always  in  his  voice  a  suppressed 
gratitude  as  for  a  gift. 

When  Peter  was  alone  with  him  he  tried 
to  draw  him  out  and  got  nothing  for  his 
pains.  The  story  he  had  scented  on  their 
day  of  embarkation  had  undoubtedly  left  no 
trail.  When  he  aired  his  disappointment 
good-naturedly  to  Sheila  she  only  laughed  at 
him. 

11  199 


LEERIE 

"If  you  want  a  story  go  to  some  of  the 
other  devils;  we'll  never  know  more  of 
Monsieur  Satan  till  Fate  turns  interlocutor." 

"Well,  he's  certainly  the  most  slumbering 
devil  I  ever  saw.  If  that's  the  worst  French 
soil  can  propagate,  it's  hard  to  believe  the 
Germans  they  tackle  get  much  of  an  inferno." 

In  spite  of  his  skepticism,  however,  Peter 
had  an  unexpected  glimpse  into  that  in 
ferno  the  day  before  they  landed.  For 
thirty-six  hours  they  had  been  running 
through  the  danger  zone  with  life-boats  loose 
on  their  davits,  life-belts  ready  for  adjust 
ment,  and  nerves  tense.  Then  the  tension 
had  suddenly  relaxed,  everybody  talked  with 
everybody  else,  displaying  a  lack  of  restraint 
that  bordered  on  intimacy.  Peter  and  Sheila 
were  strolling  an  almost  deserted  deck  toward 
a  group  amidships.  As  they  neared  it  they 
saw  it  was  dominated  by  two  principal 
figures — one  a  professional  philanthropist 
with  more  sentiment  than  judgment,  and  the 
other  Monsieur  Satan.  The  philanthropist 
was  talking  in  what  Peter  termed  an  "open- 
throttle  voice." 

"But  you  don't  mean  you  would  ever  harm 
a  defenseless  prisoner,  Captain  Fauchet? 

200 


MONSIEUR   SATAN 


Of  course  you  would  never  allow  your  men 
to  kill  a  fallen  enemy  or  one  supplicating 
mercy." 

' 'Supplicating  mercy — bah!"  The  mouth 
that  could  smile  so  boyishly  had  a  diabolical 
twist,  the  eyes  blazed  like  hell-fires,  as  Peter 
said  afterward.  "There  is  only  the  one 
Boche  that  is  safe,  madame — the  dead  Boche. 
When  we  find  them  wriggling  I  teach  my 
men  to  make  them  safe — quickly!"  The 
lips  smiled  sardonically.  Monsieur  Satan 
was  a  boy  no  longer;  in  some  inexplicable 
fashion  he  had  come  into  full  possession  of 
that  Mephistophelian  middle-age. 

But  the  lady  philanthropist  had  neither 
the  eyes  to  see  nor  the  intelligence  to  under 
stand.  Instead  she  clumsily  parried  with 
invisible  forces.  ''Of  course  you  don't  mean 
that,  Captain  Fauchet.  You  are  just  making 
believe  you  are  a  wicked  man.  I  believe  you 
are  trying  to  stuff  me,  as  our  American  slang 
puts  it.  Now  if  a  wounded  German  came 
running  toward  you  crying  Kamerad — " 

"Sacrebleu!  Oui,  madame,  once  I  listen 
to  that  Kamerad.  But  now — jamais !  When 
they  call  it  with  their  lying  tongues  I  shout 
them  back  'Kamerad  to  hell!'  and  I  zi- 

201 


,  LEERIE 

geuille."  The  right  hand  made  a  swift, 
subtle  twist  with  a  deep  thrust.  It  took 
little  imagination  to  guess  what  it  was  sup 
posed  to  be  holding.  For  a  second  Monsieur 
Satan's  eyes  still  continued  to  blaze  at  the 
woman  before  him;  then  he  tossed  back  his 
head,  plunged  through  the  crowd,  and  was 
gone. 

"A  devil  of  a  Blue  Devil,"  quoted  Peter 
under  his  breath.  "Our  friend,  Monsieur 
Marchand,  was  not  indulging  in  hyperbole 
after  all." 

Sheila  watched  him  go  and  said  nothing. 

That  twilight,  when  Monsieur  Satan  joined 
her,  he  looked  as  harmless  as  ever,  only  a 
trifle  more  bashful.  "Perhaps  ma'am'selle 
will  care  no  longer  to  promenade  with  the 
wicked  man.  N'est  ce  pas?" 

"A  brave  man,"  corrected  Sheila,  and  she 
looked  straight  into  the  black  eyes.  "A 
brave  man  who  has  given  himself  body  and 
soul  to  France." 

"Body  and  soul.  Oui,  ma'am'selle.  But 
listen — there  is  something — "  His  face 
changed  in  a  breath,  the  eyes  were  blazing 
again,  the  mouth  had  turned  as  sinister  as 
his  nom  de  guerre  signified.  But  some- 

202 


MONSIEUR   SATAN 


thing  in  Sheila's  eyes  checked  him.  He  put 
out  a  hand  unconsciously  and  laid  it  on  her 
as  though  to  steady  himself.  Non,  ma'am' - 
selle.  One  need  not  tell  everything.  You 
v/ill  see  enough — enough." 

When  they  landed,  his  good-bys  to  her 
were  curiously  brief.  He  held  her  hand  a 
second  as  if  he  would  have  said  a  great  deal ; 
then  with  a  quick  "  Au  Voi'r"  he  flung  it  from 
him  and  was  down  the  gangway.  But  with 
Peter  it  was  different.  He  found  him  alone 
and  vouchsafed  him  for  the  first  time  what 
might  have  been  called  conversation. 

"I  do  not  know  until  yesterday  that  you 
were  betrothed  to  Ma'am'selle  O'Leary. 
That  is  so?" 

Peter  nodded. 

"You  have  been  generous,  monsieur.  I 
wish  to  thank  you." 

Peter  held  out  his  hand.  "Oh,  that's  all 
right.  American  men  aren't  given  to  being 
jealous,  as  a  rule.  Besides,  Miss  O'Leary  is 
the  sort  one  has  no  right  to  be  selfish  with. 
I  guess  you  understand?" 

"Oui,  monsieur.  She  belongs  a  little  to 
every  one,  man  or  child,  who  needs  the  sym 
pathy,  the  kind  word,  the  loving  heart. 

203 


LEERIE 

Moi,  I  comprehend.  Some  time,  perhaps,  I 
render  back  the  service.  Then  you  can  trust 
me;  the  honor  of  Bertrand  Fauchet  can  be 
trusted  with  women.  Adieu,  monsieur." 

By  dawn  the  next  day  the  passengers  of 
the  liner  were  scattering  to  the  far  corners  of 
the  fighting-front.  Jacques  Marchand  had 
gone,  via  the  office  of  the  Figaro,  to  Flan 
ders.  Monsieur  Satan  had  been  despatched 
to  relieve  another  captain  of  the  Chasseurs 
Alpins  with  French  outposts  along  the  Oise. 
Peter  had  received  his  war  permits  to  join  the 
A.  E.  F.  in  action  and  Sheila  had  received  her 
appointment  to  an  evacuation  hospital  near 
the  front.  Her  parting  with  Peter  was  over 
before  either  of  them  had  time  to  realize  it. 
Her  train  left  the  Gare  du  Nord  before  his. 
They  had  very  little  to  say,  these  two  who 
had  claimed  each  other  out  of  all  the  world 
and  now  were  putting  aside  their  personal 
happiness  that  they  might  give  their  service 
where  it  was  so  really  needed.  There  were 
no  whimperings  of  heart,  no  conscious  self- 
righteousness;  only  a  great  gladness  that 
hard  work  lay  before  them  and  that  they 
understood  each  other. 

"Good-by,  man  o'  mine.     Whatever  hap- 

204 


MONSIEUR   SATAN 


pens,  remember  I  am  yours  for  always,  and 
death  doesn't  count,"  and  Sheila  laid  her  lips 
to  Peter's  in  final  pledge. 

"I  know,"  said  Peter.  " That's  what  makes 
all  this  so  absurdly  easy.  And,  sweetheart, 
you  are  to  remember  this,  never  put  any 
thought  of  me  before  what  you  feel  you  have 
got  to  do.  Don't  bungle  your  instincts. 
I'd  swear  by  them  next  to  God's  own." 

And  so  they  went  their  separate  ways. 

There  was  no  apprenticeship  for  Sheila  in 
the  hospital  whither  she  was  sent.  The  chief 
of  the  surgical  staff  gave  a  cursory  glance  over 
the  letter  she  had  brought  from  the  San, 
signed  by  the  three  leading  surgeons  in  that 
state;  then  he  looked  hard  at  her. 

"Hm  .  .  .  m!  And  strong  into  the  bar 
gain.  You're  a  godsend,  Miss  O'Leary." 

Before  the  day  had  gone  she  was  in  charge 
of  one  of  the  operating-rooms ;  by  midnight 
they  had  fifty -three  major  operations.  And 
the  days  that  followed  were  much  the  same; 
they  passed  more  like  dreams  than  realities. 
There  were  a  few  sane,  clear  moments  when 
Sheila  realized  that  the  sky  was  very  blue 
or  leaden  gray ;  that  the  sun  shone  or  did  not 
shine,  that  the  wards  were  cheery  places  and 

205 


LEERIE 

that  all  about  her  were  faces  consecrated  to 
unselfish  work  or  to  patient  suffering.  These 
were  the  times  when  she  could  stop  for  a  chat 
with  the  boys  or  write  letters  home  for  them. 
But  for  the  most  part  she  was  being  hurled 
through  a  maelstrom  of  operations  and  dress 
ings  with  just  enough  time  between  to 
snatch  her  share  of  food  and  sleep.  Her 
enthusiasm  was  unbounded  for  the  marvelous 
efficiency  of  it  all.  She  could  never  have  be 
lieved  that  so  many  delicate  operations  could 
have  been  done  in  so  few  hours,  that  wounds 
could  heal  with  such  rapidity,  that  nerves 
could  rebound  and  hearts  come  sturdily 
through  to  go  about  their  business  of  keeping 
their  owners  alive.  And  every  boy  brought 
to  her  room  was  a  fighting  chance;  but  the 
fight  was  up  to  her  and  the  surgeons,  and 
they  fought  as  archangels  might  to  restore  a 
new  heaven  on  a  befouled  earth.  Life  had 
always  seemed  full  and  worth  while  to  her. 
Now  it  seemed  a  super-life,  shorn  of  every 
thing  petty  and  futile. 

"War  may  be  hell;  very  likely  it  is  for 
those  who  make  it;  but  for  us  who  do  the 
patching  afterward  it's  like  the  Day  of  Crea 
tion.  I  feel  as  if  I'd  put  new  souls  into 

206 


MONSIEUR   SATAN 


mended  bodies."  And  the  gruff,  overtired 
chief  who  heard  her  smiled  and  mumbled  to 
himself,  "Those  of  us  who  survive  will  all 
have  new  souls ;  old  ones  have  atrophied  and 
dropped  off." 

Fall  was  slow  in  coming.  Instead  of 
settling  down  to  trench  hibernating  as  had 
been  the  custom  for  three  years,  the  Entente 
kept  to  its  periodic  attacks,  pushing  the 
enemy  back  farther  and  still  a  little  farther, 
so  that  trenches  were  no  longer  the  per 
manent  abiding-places  they  had  been  in  the 
past.  Just  as  every  one  was  prophesying  the 
numbing  of  hostilities  until  spring,  the  rumor 
spread  of  Foch's  final  drive.  On  the  heels  of 
the  rumor  came  the  drive  itself.  Hospitals 
were  taxed  to  their  utmost;  surgeons  and 
nurses  worked  for  days  with  a  maximum  of 
four  hours'  sleep  a  night.  In  Sheila's  hos 
pital  Anzacs,  Territorials,  poilus,  Americans, 
Tommies,  and  Zouaves  poured  in  indiscrim 
inately.  Mattresses  covered  every  square 
inch  on  the  floor  and  canvas  was  stretched 
in  the  yard  over  many  more.  The  number  of 
operating-tables  gave  out  at  the  beginning 
and  they  used  stretchers,  boards — anything 

that  could  hold  a  wounded  man. 

207 


LEERIE 

"  It's  our  last  pull,"  said  the  doctors.  "  If 
we  can  keep  going  three — four  more  days, 
we'll  have  as  many  months  to  get  back  some 
of  our  wind." 

"Of  course  we'll  keep  going,"  said  the 
nurses.  And  they  slept  in  their  clothes  for 
those  days  and  did  dressings  in  their  sleep. 

When  it  was  over  and  they  had  settled 
down  to  what  was  near-routine  again  they 
began  to  sort  out  the  minor  cases  and  pass  on 
the  convalescents.  Sheila,  who  had  slept 
on  the  threshold  of  her  room  for  weeks,  was 
dragged  forth  by  the  chief  to  make  the 
rounds  with  him  and  dispose  of  the  negligible 
cases.  It  was  in  the  last  ward  that  she  came 
upon  Monsieur  Satan. 

From  across  the  room  she  was  conscious  of 
the  change  in  him.  He  was  not  much  hurt — 
an  exploding  shell  had  damaged  one  foot  and 
his  heart  had  been  strained.  It  was  a  mental 
change  that  caught  Sheila's  attention.  The 
eyes  had  grown  abnormally  alert  and  cun 
ning;  there  was  nothing  boyish  or  naive  left 
to  the  mouth;  it  was  sinister,  vengeful,  un 
relenting.  He  was  in  a  wheel-chair  between 
two  husky  giants  of  Australians  who  kept 
wary  eyes  upon  him.  As  the  surgeon  and 

208 


MONSIEUR   SATAN 


the  nurse  reached  them,  Monsieur  Satan 
tossed  his  head  back  with  a  sudden  recog 
nition,  and  Sheila  held  out  a  friendly  hand. 

"I  am  glad  to  see  you  again,  Captain 
Fauchet;  not  much  of  a  scratch,  I  hope." 

The  eyes  held  their  cunning,  the  sinister 
droop  to  the  lips  intensified  as  they  curved 
mockingly  to  greet  her:  "Bon!  It  is  Ma'am'- 
selle  O'Leary.  The  scratch  it  is  nothing. 
Bertrand  Fauchet  has  still  the  two  good 
hands  to  kill  with."  He  curled  them  as  if 
over  the  hilts  of  invisible  weapons,  and  with 
lightning  thrusts  attacked  the  air  about  him. 
"Une,  deux,  trois,  quatre,  cinq —  Ha-ha!" 
and  the  appalling  pantomime  ended  with  a 
diabolical  laugh. 

In  some  inexplicable  fashion  he  had  come 
into  full  possession  of  his  nom  de  guerre. 
Sheila  had  thought  her  nerves  steel,  her  con 
trol  unshakable;  but  she  was  shuddering 
when  they  reached  the  corridor.  There  she 
broke  through  the  orthodox  repression  of  her 
calling  and  quizzed  the  chief. 

"What's  happened?  He  wasn't  like  that 
when  I  knew  him.  If  it  was  witch-times  we'd 
say  he'd  been  caught  by  the  evil  eye." 

"Same  thing,  brought  up  to  date.     It's 

209 


LEERIE 

shell  shock.  Memory  all  right,  nerves  and 
brain  speeded  up  like  a  maniac;  he's  come 
back  obsessed  with  the  idea  he  must  kill. 
First  night  he  was  brought  in,  before  v/e  knew 
what  the  matter  was,  he  knifed  the  two  Ger 
mans  in  his  ward.  Since  then  we've  kept 
him  safe  between  these  two  Australians,  but 
he  has  their  nerves  almost  shattered."  The 
chief  smiled  grimly. 

To  Sheila  it  seemed  diabolically  logical. 
What  was  more  natural  in  this  business  of 
war  than  that  when  one's  reason  went  over 
the  top  it  should  grip  the  mad  desire  to  kill? 
But  the  horror  of  it !  She  turned  back  to  the 
day's  work  white  and  sick  at  heart.  For 
twenty-four  hours  she  accepted  it  as  inevita 
ble.  At  the  end  of  that  time  her  memory 
was  harkening  back  to  the  bashful  boy  of  the 
French  liner,  the  boy  who  could  smile  like  a 
lost  cherub,  who  looked  at  her  with  the  fine 
ness  of  soul  that  made  her  companionship  a 
willing  gift.  Had  that  fine,  simple  part  of 
him  been  blown  to  eternity  and  could  eternity 
alone  bring  it  back?  And  what  of  the  years 
before  him,  the  years  such  a  physique  was 
bound  to  claim?  Did  it  mean  a  mad-cell 

with  a  keeper? 

210 


MONSIEUR   SATAN 


At  the  end  of  a  third  day  the  old  Leerie  of 
the  San  was  walking  through  the  wards  of  the 
hospital  with  her  lamp  trimmed  and  burning, 
casting  such  a  radiance  on  that  eager  face 
that  the  men  turned  in  their  cots  to  catch  the 
last  look  of  her  as  she  passed ;  and  after  she 
had  gone  blinked  across  at  one  another  as  if 
to  say:  "Did  you  see  it?  Did  you  feel  it? 
And  what  was  it,  anyway?" 

She  was  looking  for  some  one;  and  she 
found  him  with  a  leg  shot  off,  playing  a 
mouth-organ  in  the  farthest  corner  of  one 
ward.  He  was  a  Chasseur  Alpin;  he  had 
been  wounded  in  the  same  charge  as  Mon 
sieur  Satan.  Sheila  was  searching  for  cause 
and  effect  and  she  prayed  this  man  might 
help  her  find  them.  As  she  sat  down  on  the 
edge  of  the  cot  she  thanked  her  particular 
star  for  a  speaking  knowledge  of  French. 
"Bon  jour,  mon  ami.  I  have  come  for  your 
help.  C'est  pour  Capitaine  Fauchet." 

The  mouth-organ  dropped  to  the  floor. 
The  eyes  that  had  been  merely  pleasantly 
retrospective  gathered  gloom.  "Mais,  que 
voulez-vous?  All  the  others  say  it  is  hope 
less.  Tell  me,  ma'am'selle,  what  can  I  do?" 

"  I  don't  know — I  hardly  know  what  any  of 
211 


LEERIE 

us  can  do.  But  we  must  try  something. 
We  know  so  little  about  shell  shock,  so  often 
the  impossible  happens.  Tell  me,  were  you 
with  him?" 

The  soldier  hitched  himself  forward  and 
leaned  over  on  one  elbow.  "  Toujours,  ma'am'- 
selle,  always  I  am  with  him.  Listen.  I  can 
tell  you.  I  was  born  in  the  little  town  of 
Tourteron  where  Bertrand  Fauchet  was 
born — and  where  Nanette  came  to  live  with 
her  brother  Paul  and  their  uncle,  the  good 
abbe.  I  was  not  of  their  class;  but  we  all 
played  together  as  children  and  even  then 
Bertrand  loved  Nanette.  The  year  war 
came  they  were  betrothed.  I  am  not  tiring 
ma'am'selle?" 

"No.    Goon." 

"We  both  enlisted  in  the  Chasseurs  Alpins. 
They  made  Bertrand  a  lieutenant,  then  a 
captain — he  was  a  man  to  lead.  And  how 
kind,  how  good  to  his  men !  That  was  before 
he  had  won  his  nom  de  guerre — before  they 
called  him  Monsieur  Satan.  If  there  was  a 
danger  he  would  see  it  first  and  race  for  it,  to 
get  ahead  of  his  men.  He  would  give  them 
no  orders  that  he  would  not  fill  with  them; 
and  always  so  pitying  for  the  prisoners. 

212 


MONSIEUR   SATAN 


'Treat  them  kindly,  mes  gargons,'  he  would 
cry;  and  what  mercy  he  would  show! 
Mon  Dieu !  I  have  seen  him,  when  his  mouth 
was  cracking  with  the  thirst,  pour  the  last 
drop  from  his  canteen  down  the  throat  of  a 
dying  Boche,  or  share  the  last  bread  in  his 
baluchon  with  a  wounded  prisoner.  And 
the  many  times  he  has  crept  into  No  Man's 
Land  to  bring  in  a  blesse  we  could  hear 
moaning  in  the  dark ;  and  when  it  turned  out 
a  Boche,  as  so  often  it  did,  he  would  carry 
him  with  the  same  tenderness.  That  was 
Bertrand  Fauchet  when  war  began.  Once  I 
ask  him,  'Why  are  you  so  careful  with  the 
Bodies?'  and  he  smiled  that  little-boy  smile 
of  his  and  say:  'Why  not?  We  are  still 
gentlemen  if  we  are  at  war.  And  listen, 
Frangois — some  day  our  little  Tourteron  may 
fall  into  Boche  hands.  I  would  have  them 
know  many  kindnesses  from  us  before  that 
happens.' 

"Eh  bien,  Tourteron  did  fall  into  their 
hands,  ma'am'selle,  and  there  it  has  been 
until  a  fortnight  ago.  The  German  ranks 
swept  it  like  a  sea  and  made  it  their  own,  as 
they  made  the  houses,  the  cattle,  the  or 
chards,  the  maids,  quite  their  own.  You 

213 


LEERIE 

comprehend?  After  that  Bertrand  fight  like 
the  devil  and  pray  like  the  saint.  Then  one 
day  a  Boche  stabs  Paul — Nanette's  brother 
Paul — as  he  stoops  to  succor  him.  Fauchet 
sees ;  and  he  hears  the  tales  that  come  across 
the  trenches  to  us.  The  abbe  is  crucified 
to  the  chapel  door  because  he  gives  sanctuary 
to  the  young  girls;  Pere  Fauchet  is  shot  in 
the  Square  with  other  anciens  for  example. 
After  that  Capitaine  Fauchet  gives  us  the 
order  'no  mercy,'  and  we  kill  in  battle  and 
out.  Ma'am'selle  shudders — mais,  que  vou- 
lez-vous?  He  is  Monsieur  Satan  now ;  but  I 
still  think  he  prays. 

"And  now  comes  the  big  drive  of  the  Su 
preme  Command.  Village  after  village  that 
has  been  Boche  land  for  four  years  becomes 
French  again.  The  people  go  mad  with  joy; 
they  come  rushing  out  to  meet  our  regiments 
like  souls  turned  out  of  hell  by  God  Him 
self.  But  such  souls,  ma'am'selle!  Be  thank 
ful  in  your  heart  you  shall  never  have  the 
little  places  of  America  thrown  back  to  you 
by  a  retreating  Boche  army,  never  look  into 
the  faces  of  the  people  who  have  been  made 
to  serve  their  desires.  It  is  like  when  the 
tide  goes  out  on  the  coast  and  leaves  behind 

214 


MONSIEUR   SATAN 


it  wreckage  and  slime.  Only  here  it  was 
human  wreckage. 

"At  last  the  night  came  when  we  lay  out 
side  Tourteron.  Bertrand  called  for  me  and 
we  bivouacked  together.  We  were  to  attack 
some  time  before  dav/n,  after  the  moon  had 
set.  We  could  not  trust  our  tongues — at  such 
times  things  are  better  left  unsaid ;  so  we  lay 
and  smoked  and  prayed  against  what  we 
feared.  Only  once  Bertrand  spoke — 'Fran- 
gois,  to-morrow  will  see  me  always  a  devil 
or  a  saint,  le  bon  Dieu  knows  which.' 

"The  moon  shone  bright  till  after  mid 
night.  We  lay  under  cover  of  thin  weeds,  and 
beyond  lay  the  meadow  and  stream  and  then 
the  town.  About  twelve  we  heard  the  crisp 
bark  of  a  sniper — two,  three  shots;  then 
everything  was  still  as  death  again.  We 
were  watching  the  shadows  play  across  the 
meadow  and  timing  the  minutes  before  the 
moon  would  sink,  when  out  of  one  of  those 
shadows  she  came  —  straight  across  the 
meadow  and  the  moonlight.  It  was  Nanette, 
ma'am'selle.  We  knew  it  on  the  instant. 
She  had  a  way  of  carrying  the  head  and  a 
step  one  could  not  forget.  It  was  she  the 
sniper  had  been  after.  One  side  of  her  face 

15  215 


LEERIE 

was  crimson,  the  other  side  white  and  beau 
tiful.  But  she  did  not  seem  to  know,  and 
the  first  look  I  had  told  me  she  had  gone 
quite  mad. 

"I  could  feel  Bertrand  Fauchet  stiffen  by 
my  side;  I  could  feel  him  reach  out  for  my 
Rosalie  and  grip  it  fast.  Then  he  began  a 
low  or  crooning  call.  He  dared  not  call  out 
loud — he  dared  not  move  to  give  our  troops 
away!  It  was  to  be  a  surprise  attack.  So 
all  he  could  do  was  to  wait  and  call  softly  as 
to  a  little  child,  'Nanette  cherie,  allons, 
allons!' 

"  There  had  been  a  skirmish  in  the  meadow 
two  days  before ;  we  had  given  way  and  the 
handful  of  dead  we  had  left  behind  were  still 
unburied.  I  think  Nanette  had  heard  that 
the  Chasseurs  Alpins  had  come  and  she  had 
stolen  out  to  find  her  lover.  She  came 
slowly,  so  slowly,  and  frail  as  a  shadow  her 
self.  As  she  passed  each  corpse  she  knelt 
beside  it  and  sang  the  foolish  little  berceuse 
that  Poitou  mothers  sing  to  their  babies. 
We  could  hear  the  humming  far  away, 
and  as  she  came  nearer  we  could  hear 
the  words.  Ma'am'selle  knows  them,  per 
haps? 

216 


"The  first  look  I  had  told  me  she  had  gone  quite  mad" 


MONSIEUR   SATAN 


"'Ah!  Ah!  papillon,  marie-toi — 
Helas,  mon  maltre,  je  n'ai  pas  de  quoi, 
La  dans  ma  bergeri-e 

J'ai  cent  moutons;  c.a  s'ra  pour  faire  les  noces  de 
papillon.'" 

The  soldier  crooned  the  song  through  to 
himself  as  if  under  the  spell  of  the  story  he 
was  telling.  Then  he  went  on.  ''She  sang 
it  through  each  time,  patting  the  blue  coats, 
pushing  back  the  caps  of  those  who  still 
wore  them,  looking  hard  into  each  dead  face. 
But  she  would  always  turn  away  with  the 
little  shake  of  the  head,  so  triste,  ma'am'selle. 
And  all  the  time  the  man  beside  me  calling 
out  his  heart  in  a  whisper — 'Nanette — 
Nanette — aliens,  cherie!' 

"  She  was  not  twenty  yards  away,  the  arms 
of  Bertrand  Fauchet  were  reaching  out  to 
take  her,  when,  pouf!  the  sniper  barked 
again  and  Nanette  went  down  like  a  pale 
cornflower  before  the  reaper.  And  all  the 
time  we  laid  there,  waiting  for  the  moon  to 
set.  When  we  charge  we  charge  like  devils. 
We  swept  Tourteron  clean  of  the  Boches ;  and 
we  take  no  prisoners!  For  that  night 
every  man  remember  the  one  thing,  they  love 
their  captain  and  they  see  what  he  has 

217 


LEERIE 

seen.  But  before  the  day  is  gone  we  are 
sane  men  again,  all  but  our  captain.  The 
shell  that  takes  my  leg  takes  what  pity, 
what  softness  he  has  left,  and  leaves  him  with 
just  the  frenzy  to  kill.  And  it  is  not  for  me 
to  wonder — -moi — for  I  know  all." 

The  story  haunted  Sheila  for  days ;  always 
when  she  closed  her  eyes  she  could  see  the 
girl  Nanette  coming  across  the  meadow  in 
the  moonlight.  She  never  failed  to  open 
them  before  she  saw  too  far.  The  plaintive 
melody  of  the  berceuse  rang  in  her  ears  on 
duty  and  off,  till  at  last  she  could  stand  it  no 
longer.  It  was  the  old  dominant  Leerie  who 
hunted  up  the  chief. 

"Colonel  Sparks,  I  want  you  to  put  me  on 
Captain  Fauchet's  case.  The  work  is  lighter 
now ;  you  can  do  with  one  less  operating-room. 
I  know  it's  bad  form  to  interfere,  but  I  want 
my  chance  on  that  case." 

The  chief  looked  his  surprise.  "I've  heard 
of  your  fondness  for  breaking  rules — won 
dered  when  you  were  going  to  begin.  I  don't 
mind  giving  you  up,  but  that  case  is  hopeless. 
I'm  sure  of  it.  Listen — and  this  isn't  for 
publication — Fauchet  got  out  of  his  ward 
again,  hid  in  the  corridors  until  the  nurse  was 

218 


MONSIEUR  SATAN 


gone,  and  killed  another  German  last  night. 
That  man  is  incurably  insane  and  we  can't 
keep  him  here  any  longer." 

"Please!"  There  was  a  look  about  Leerie 
that  could  not  be  denied,  a  compelling 
prayer  for  the  right  to  save  another  human 
being.  "You  could  keep  him  a  little  longer; 
I'll  promise  there'll  be  no  more  dead  Ger 
mans.  Give  me  my  chance." 

"What's  your  idea?" 

The  girl  raised  a  deprecating  hand.  "  Some 
thing  so  crazy  that  you'd  laugh  at  it.  Let  me 
keep  it  to  myself — and  give  me  Captain 
Fauchet." 

In  the  end  Leerie  had  her  wish.  The  little 
room  at  the  end  of  a  ward,  used  heretofore 
for  supplies,  was  turned  into  a  private  room, 
and  Monsieur  Satan  was  moved  in,  with 
Sheila  O'Leary  as  guardian.  It  was  very 
evident  that  the  patient  approved.  Once 
the  door  was  closed  behind  them,  he  beckoned 
the  nurse  to  him  with  malignant  joy. 

"They  are  all  Germans  out  there — I've 
just  discovered  it.  Sooner  or  later  they 
will  all  have  to  be  destroyed.  You  are  an 
American.  I  can  swear  to  that,  for  I  saw  you 
on  a  liner  coming  from  America  and  your 

219 


LEERIE 

French  is  so  bad,  pardonnez-moi,  it  could  not 
be  anything  but  American.  That  is  why  I 
trust  you.  You  are  with  me  against  the 
Bodies,  n'est-ce  pas?" 

Sheila  solemnly  agreed. 

"Eh  bien,  listen.  The  world  is  slowly 
turning  Boche.  You  pour  a  little  Pinard 
into  water  and  what  do  you  get?  Crimson! 
Well,  you  scatter  a  few  Boches  over  the  earth 
and  what  have  you?  A  German  world 
colored  Prussian  blue.  Come  closer,  ma'am' - 
selle."  He  put  out  nervous  hands  and  drew 
her  down  so  he  could  whisper  his  words. 
"And  the  cure,  ma'am'selle,  the  cure?  Ah, 
moi,  Monsieur  Satan,  knows  it." 

They  spent  the  rest  of  the  day  in  discussing 
the  killing  qualities  of  shells,  grenades, 
bombs;  the  stabbing  qualities  of  bayonets, 
daggers,  swords;  the  exploding  properties 
of  dynamite,  nitroglycerin,  TNT,  and  oth 
ers.  As  they  talked  Monsieur  Satan  sucked 
in  his  breath  exultantly  and  hissed  between 
his  teeth,  "Zigouille,  toujours  zigouille!" 
while  his  hand  stabbed  and  twisted  into  the  air. 

Another  day  and  he  had  taken  Sheila 
entirely  into  his  confidence.  "I  have  my 
mind  made.  You  shall  hear  the  cure,  ma'am'- 

220 


MONSIEUR  SATAN 


selle,  for  you  and  I  will  be  partners.  A 
Boche  world  can  be  cured  but  the  one  way — 
destroyed,  completely  destroyed,"  and  he 
laughed  uproariously.  Then  his  eyes  nar 
rowed;  he  was  all  cunning  and  intensity,  a 
beast  of  prey  crouched  for  the  spring.  "Ah, 
but  we  must  whisper;  there  are  spies  every 
where.  The  men  in  the  wards  are  all  spies 
pretending  they  are  French  wounded;  and 
the  doctors  are  spies.  Oh,  the  Boches  are 
damnably  clever,  but  we  will  be  more  dam 
nable — we  will  outwit  them.  We  will  blow 
them  into  a  million  atoms.  They  will  make 
good  fertilizer  for  French  vineyards  in  a 
hundred  years.  Eh  bien?" 

So  Sheila  became  partner  in  evolving  the 
most  colossal  crime  the  world  had  ever 
known.  Everything  played  into  her  hands 
and  gave  credence  to  her  deceptions.  The 
great  cases  that  came  by  night  packed  with 
dressings  were  to  Monsieur  Satan  air-bombs 
with  propellers.  They  were  to  be  set  loose 
on  the  day  appointed  in  such  millions  that 
the  air  would  be  charged  with  them,  the  sun 
blotted  out;  and  they  would  drop  in  ex 
ploding  masses  over  the  earth,  exterminating 
humanity. 

221 


LEERIE 

''They  shall  be  like  the  hordes  of  locusts 
that  nearly  destroyed  Egypt — only  these 
shall  destroy.  And  how  every  one  shall  run 
in  terror!  You  will  see,  ma'am'selle.  It 
will  be  a  good  sight."  And  Monsieur 
Satan  rubbed  his  hands  in  keen  anticipa 
tion. 

The  tanks  of  oxygen  placed  on  motor 
trucks,  the  gasoline-tanks,  were  nothing  else 
than  a  deadly  gas.  The  partners  had  con 
cocted  it  out  of  the  strangest  compounds, 
unshed-tears,  heart-agony,  fear-in-the-night, 
snipers'  barks,  and  moonshine.  Monsieur 
Satan  chuckled  over  the  formula  and  said  he 
would  swear  not  a  living  soul  could  with 
stand  a  single  whiff  of  it.  It  was  agreed  that 
the  makers  of  the  gas — mythological  beings 
Sheila  had  created — should  be  killed  at  once 
so  that  their  secret  should  never  be  dis 
covered;  and  Sheila  herself  was  despatched 
to  compass  the  deed.  Before  she  returned 
the  bell  in  the  church  near  by  was  tolling  for 
their  parting  souls;  and  Monsieur  Satan 
chuckled  as  he  cast  admiring  glances  at  this 
prompt  executioner. 

"You  are  a  good  pupil,  ma'am'selle;  you 

learn  quickly.     Now  the  maps."  And  they 

222 


fell  to  diagraming  where  the  piping  for  this 
deadly  gas  should  be  laid. 

Not  an  inch  of  the  old  world  was  to  be  left 
peopled;  from  east  to  west  and  north  to 
south  everything  was  to  be  destroyed.  No, 
not  everything.  Even  as  Monsieur  Satan 
decreed  it  he  hesitated.  "There  are  the 
children,  I  think — yes,  I  think  they  shall  live. 
Their  hearts  are  pure;  the  Boches  cannot 
contaminate  them.  They  shall  live  after  us 
with  no  memory  of  evil,  so  they  can  build 
again  the  beautiful  world."  He  stopped  and 
looked  across  at  the  nurse  with  a  haunting, 
wistful  stare.  "Tell  me,  ma'am'selle,  was  the 
world  ever  beautiful?" 

"Very  beautiful,  capitaine." 

He  passed  an  uncertain  hand  over  his  eyes. 
" I  seem  to  remember  that  it  was;  but  now  I 
see  it  always  running  with  red  blood  boiling 
from  hell." 

After  that  the  children  were  always  in  his 
mind;  as  he  planned  the  destruction  of  the 
rest  of  the  world  he  planned  their  re-creation. 
Thereupon  Sheila  saw  to  it  that  the  war 
orphans  from  the  creche  came  to  play  in  the 
hospital  gardens — under  the  window  of  the 
little  room.  Soon  it  became  a  custom  for 

223 


LEERIE 

Monsieur  Satan  to  look  for  them,  to  ask  their 
names,  and  wave  gaily  to  them.  And  they 
waved  back.  And  the  chief  of  the  surgical 
staff  began  to  marvel  that  Monsieur  Satan 
should  give  no  more  trouble. 

Among  them  was  a  little  girl,  a  wan,  ethe 
real  little  creature  who  sat  apart  from  the 
other  children  and  watched  their  play  with 
far-away,  haunting  eyes,  as  if  she  wondered 
what  in  the  world  they  were  doing.  Sheila 
had  found  toys  for  her — a  ball,  a  doll,  a  jump- 
ing-jack — and  tried  to  coax  her  to  play.  But 
she  only  clung  to  them  for  their  rare  value  as 
possessions;  as  a  means  to  enjoyment  they 
were  quite  meaningless.  From  one  of  the 
older  children  Sheila  got  her  story.  Her 
father  had  been  killed,  her  mother  was  with 
the  Bodies;  there  was  no  one  else.  With  an 
aching  heart  the  nurse  wondered  how  many 
thousand  Madelines  France  held. 

One  day  she  brought  the  child  in  to  Mon 
sieur  Satan  and  repeated  her  story.  He 
listened  wisely,  patting  her  on  the  head,  and 
then  whispered  to  Sheila:  "Ah,  what  did  I 
say!  These  Boches — they  get  everything — 
the  mothers,  the  sweethearts."  Then  to 
Madeline:  "Listen,  ma  pauvre;  you  shall 

224 


MONSIEUR   SATAN 


have  the  sadness  no  longer.  Monsieur  Satan 
will  promise  you  happiness,  ah,  such  happi 
ness  in  the  new  beautiful  world  he  is  pre 
paring  for  you.  Now  go.  But  'sh  .  .  .  sh  I 
You  must  say  nothing." 

From  this  moment  Sheila  became  senior 
partner.  It  was  she  who  suggested  all  the 
extraordinary  horrors  Monsieur  Satan  had 
overlooked.  It  was  she  who  speeded  up  time 
and  plans.  "  I  have  the  hospitals  and  streets 
all  mined  in  case  the  flying  bombs  should  not 
come  thick  enough;  and  I  have  the  wells 
poisoned.  Isn't  that  a  clever  idea?" 

The  man  looked  disturbed.  "  That's  as 
clever  as  the  Boches.  But  the  children — 
where  will  they  drink?  You  must  take  care 
of  the  children." 

Then  Sheila  played  her  trump  card  and 
said  the  thing  she  had  been  waiting  so  long 
to  say.  Like  Monsieur  Satan  she  hissed  the 
words  between  her  teeth,  while  her  face  took 
on  all  the  diabolical  cunning  it  could  muster. 
"The  children — bah!  What  do  they  matter, 
after  all?  I  have  decided — the  children  shall 
be  destroyed." 

Monsieur  Satan  sprang  from  his  chair. 
He  pinioned  her  arms  behind  her,  forcing  her 

225 


LEERIE ^^^ 

back  so  he  could  look  deep  into  her  eyes  with 
all  the  hate  and  mercilessness  his  soul  har 
bored.  "Touch  Madeline — the  children, 
never !  Let  so  much  as  one  little  hair  of  their 
heads  be  harmed  and  I — Monsieur  Satan — 
will  kill  you!" 

She  left  him  with  a  non-committal  shrug, 
left  him  panting  and  swearing  softly  under 
his  breath. 

From  that  moment  he  watched  Sheila 
suspiciously  and  followed  the  children  with 
jealous  eyes.  For  Madeline  he  called  con 
stantly;  and  she  sat  on  his  knee  by  the  hour 
while  he  danced  the  jumping-jack  outra 
geously  and  taught  her  to  sing  to  the  doll  a 
certain  foolish  berceuse  that  Poitou  mothers 
sing  to  their  babies. 

Sheila  had  planned  to  stage  their  day  of 
destruction  with  the  craft  of  a  master  man 
ager.  She  had  had  to  take  certain  officials 
into  her  confidence  and  get  the  chief  to  sign 
such  orders  as  had  never  been  issued  in  a 
hospital  before.  But  in  the  end  Fate  staged 
it,  and  did  it  infinitely  better  than  the  nurse 
had  even  conceived  it.  The  hour  of  doom 
struck  a  full  half -day  too  soon — the  children 
were  playing  in  the  gardens,  under  Monsieur 

226 


MONSIEUR  SATAN 


Satan's  window  instead  of  being  in  the  cellar 
of  the  creche  as  he  had  decreed ;  and  Sheila 
was  helping  another  head  nurse  do  dressings 
in  the  ward  outside 

There  were  only  a  few  minutes  after  the 
siren  blew  before  the  first  of  the  great  Fokkers 
appeared  over  the  city.  Monsieur  Satan's 
mind  went  strangely  blank;  the  children 
stopped  their  play  and  gaped  stupidly  into 
the  sky;  Sheila  did  nothing  but  listen. 
Then  the  bombs  began  to  rain  down  on  the 
city.  The  noise  was  terrific.  The  children 
ran  aimlessly  about,  shrieking  pitifully.  It 
was  this  that  set  Monsieur  Satan's  mind  to 
working  again.  He  broke  out  of  the  little 
room  like  the  madman  he  was.  He  might 
have  been  Lucifer  himself  as  he  stumbled 
along  on  his  bandaged  foot,  his  hair  erect,  his 
eyes  blazing  a  thousand  inextinguishable 
fires.  In  the  corridor  he  came  upon  Sheila, 
with  other  nurses  and  doctors,  hurrying  to 
gather  in  the  out-of-door  patients.  As  he 
overtook  them  a  bomb  struck  the  hospital. 

"Sacrebleu!"  he  shouted.  "You  bungler! 
you  fool  of  a  destroyer !  It  was  not  the  hour — 
and  the  children —  First  I  go  to  save  them. 
Afterward  I  come  to  kill  you,  ma'am'selle." 

227 


LEERIE 

He  was  out  before  them  all,  through  the 
entrance  and  down  the  steps,  when  another 
bomb  struck.  The  doorway  and  the  pillars 
were  crushed  to  gravel  and  Monsieur  Satan 
was  hurled  headlong  across  the  gardens.  In 
an  instant  he  was  up,  stumbling  frantically 
toward  the  children,  his  arms  outstretched  in 
appealing  vindication  to  those  small,  quiver 
ing  faces  turned  to  him  in  their  hour  of  an 
nihilation.  "Mes  enfants,  have  no  fear. 
I  come — I  come." 

A  third  bomb  fell.  The  children  were 
tumbled  in  a  heap  like  a  pile  of  jackstraws. 
Monsieur  Satan  had  time  enough  to  see  them 
go  down  before  a  fourth  followed  with  the 
quick  precision  of  an  automatic.  Yes,  he 
saw;  and  in  that  horror-smiting  moment  be 
lieved  it  all  a  part  of  his  great  scheme  of 
destruction;  then  the  universe  went  to 
pieces  about  him  and  something  crumbled 
inside  his  brain.  He  stood  transfixed  to  the 
earth,  staring  helplessly  in  front  of  him,  as 
immovable  as  a  graven  image. 

It  is  one  of  the  anomalies  of  war  that  the 
things  that  apparently  destroy  sometimes 
re-create.  The  gigantic  impact  of  exploding 
masses  may  destroy  a  man's  hearing,  his 

228 


MONSIEUR   SATAN 


sight,  his  memory,  or  his  mercy,  and  leave 
him  thus  maimed  for  all  time.  But  it  hap 
pens,  sometimes,  that  the  first  shock  is  fol 
lowed  by  another  which  restores  with  the 
suddenness  of  a  miracle  and  makes  the  man 
whole  again.  That  delicate  bit  of  human 
mechanism  which  has  been  battered  out  of 
place  is  battered  in,  by  the  merest  chance. 

So  it  was  with  Monsieur  Satan;  and  when 
Sheila  and  the  chief  found  him  he  was  rub 
bing  his  eyes  as  children  will  who  wake  and 
find  themselves  in  strange  places.  He  saw 
only  the  chief  at  first  and  tried  to  pull  him 
self  together. 

"Ah,  monsieur,  I  think  some  things  have 
happened — but  I  cannot  as  yet  make  the 
full  report.  I  am  Bertrand  Fauchet,  Chas 
seur  Alpin,"  and  he  tried  to  click  his  ban 
daged  heel  against  his  shoe.  Then  he  looked 
beyond  and  saw  Sheila.  It  was  as  if  he  was 
seeing  her  for  the  first  time  since  they  had 
separated  at  the  French  quay.  "Bon  Dieu! 
It  is  Ma'am'selle  O'Leary."  He  held  out  a 
shaking  hand.  "We  meet  in  the  thick  of  war 
— is  it  not  so?" 

His  eyes  left  Sheila  and  traveled  appre 
hensively  to  the  children.  They  were  wrig- 

229 


LEERIE 

gling  themselves  free  of  one  another ;  fright 
ened  and  bruised,  but  not  hurt,  barring  one. 
The  smallest  of  them  all  lay  on  the  outskirts 
of  the  heap,  quite  motionless. 

"If  you  will  permit,"  Monsieur  Satan 
stumbled  on  and  gently  picked  up  Madeline. 
He  looked  all  compassion  and  bewilderment. 
"I  do  not  altogether  understand,  ma'am'- 
selle.  But  this  little  girl,  I  should  like  to 
carry  her  to  some  hospital  and  see  that  all  is 
well  with  her.  I  seem  to  remember  that  she 
belongs  to  me."  He  smiled  apologetically 
at  the  two  watching  him,  then  stumbled 
ahead  with  his  burden. 

At  the  base  hospital  they  gave  Sheila 
O'Leary  full  credit  for  the  curing  of  Bertrand 
Fauchet,  which,  of  course,  she  flatly  denied. 
She  laid  it  entirely  to  the  interference  of  Fate 
and  a  child.  But  the  important  thing  is 
that  Bertrand  Fauchet  left  the  hospital  a 
sound  man — and  that  Madeline  went  with 
him,  each  holding  fast  to  the  hand  of  the 
other. 

"She  is  mine  now,"  he  said,  as  he  took 
leave  of  Sheila.  "Le  bon  Dieu  saw  fit  to 
send  me  in  the  place  of  that  other  papa. 
Eh,  p'tite?"  He  stroked  the  hair  back  from 

230 


MONSIEUR   SATAN 


the  little  face  that  looked  worshipfully  up  at 
him.  "It  is  for  us  who  remember  to  make 
these  little  ones  forget.  N'est-ce  pas,  ma'am' - 
selle?  And  we  are  going  back  to  the  world 
together,  to  find  somewhere  the  happiness 
and  the  great  love  for  Madeline.  Adieu." 

16 


Chapter  VII 

THE  LAD  WHO  OUTSANG   THE  STARS 

IN  the  American  Military  Hospital  No.  10 
one  could  always  count  on  Ward  7-A 
beginning  the  day  with  a  genuine  fanfare  of 
good  spirits — that  is  to  say,  ever  since  that 
ward  had  acquired  a  distinction  and  per 
sonality  of  its  own.  On  this  particular 
morning  the  doors  of  the  wards  were  open, 
for  orderlies  were  scrubbing  floors,  and 
Sheila  O'Leary  in  the  operating-room  above 
could  catch  the  words  of  the  third  chorus 
that  had  rung  through  the  hospital  since  the 
ban  of  silence  had  been  raised. 

"Gra-ma-cree   ma-cruiskeen,   Slainte-geal   ma-vour- 

neen, 

Gra-ma-cree  a-coolin  bawn,  bawn,  bawn, 
Oh!" 

As  usual,  Larry's  crescendo  boomed  in  the 
lead.  How  those  lads  could  sing! 

In  the  regular  order  of  things  it  was  time 
for  dressings ;  but  the  regular  order  of  things 

232 


THE   LAD   WHO   OUTSANG   THE   STARS 

was  so  often  broken  at  No.  10  that  it  had 
nearly  become  a  myth.  The  operating  staff 
had  been  steadily  at  it  since  eleven  the  night 
before.  If  nothing  more  came  in,  they 
might  be  through  by  eleven  now  and  the 
dressings  come  only  two  hours  late.  That 
would  be  rare  good  luck.  Under  the  spell  of 
the  singing  the  tired  backs  of  surgeons  and 
nurses  straightened  unconsciously;  cramped 
muscles  seemed  to  lose  some  of  their  kinks; 
everybody  smiled  without  knowing  it — down 
to  the  last  of  the  boys  who  were  waiting  their 
turn  in  the  corridor  outside.  The  boys  had 
not  been  in  the  hospital  long  enough  to  know 
anything  about  Ward  7 -A,  but  the  challenge 
to  courage  and  good  spirits  in  that  chorus 
of  voices  was  too  dominant  to  be  denied, 
even  among  the  sorest  wounded  of  them. 
One  after  another  rallied  to  it  like  veterans. 

"Gra  -  ma  -  cree  ma  -  cruiskeen  bawn," 
boomed  Larry's  voice  to  the  finish. 

The  chief  of  the  Surgical  Staff  looked  at 
Sheila  as  she  handed  him  the  sutures  he  was 
reaching  for.  "They're  the  best  we've  had 
yet,  eh?  Not  one  with  half  a  fighting  chance, 
and  just  listen  to  the  ones  who  are  pulling 
through." 

233 


LEERIE 

"They're  Irish."  There  was  a  tinge  of 
pride  in  the  nurse's  voice. 

The  chief  smiled.  "It's  like  nipping  a 
coin  to  find  out  whether  you're  more  Irish  or 
American.  Sometimes  it's  heads,  sometimes 
it's  tails.  Which  is  it,  honestly?" 

"Honestly,  both!"  Sheila  laughed  softly. 
Then  the  door  opened  to  admit  the  last  of  the 
stretchers,  and  she  sobered  for  an  instant  until 
she  saw  the  faces  of  the  boys.  She  knew  why 
they  were  smiling,  and  her  eyes  shone  in  the 
old  luminous,  Leerie  fashion  as  she  greeted 
them,  each  as  if  he  had  been  an  old  friend. 

"There's  a  welcome  for  you.  Those  lads 
you  hear  have  gone  through  what  you  are 
going  through,  only  a  lot  worse.  Listen, 
and  think  of  that  as  you  go  under.  They'll 
be  singing  again  in  a  moment."  And  as  she 
slipped  the  ether  cone  over  the  face  of  the 
first,  up  from  Ward  7-A  in  rollicking  cadences 
came  another  chorus: 

"Wi*  me  bundle  on  me  shoulder,  sure,  there's  not  a 

man  that's  bolder — 

I  am  leavin'  dear  old  Ireland  without  warnin'. 
For  I've  lately  took  the  notion  for  to  cross  the  briny 

ocean, 

An'  I'm  off  for  Philadelphia  in  the  mornin'." 
234 


THE   LAD   WHO   OUTSANG   THE   STARS 

The  smile  on  the  face  of  the  first  boy  spread 
to  a  grin  under  its  covering  of  gauze.  "I'm 
off  for  Philadelphia,  too,"  he  mumbled, 
thickly,  and  the  eyes  that  looked  into  Sheila's 
for  a  few  last  nebulous  seconds  showed  all 
the  comfortable  security  of  a  child's. 

They  were  hard  at  it  for  another  hour,  and 
while  Sheila  O'Leary's  hands  flew  from 
sterilizer  to  ether  cone,  from  handing  instru 
ments  and  holding  forceps  to  tying  sutures 
and  packing  wounds,  her  mind  was  busy  with 
something  that  lay  far  beyond.  To  this 
girl,  who  had  come  across  to  do  her  bit,  life 
had  become  a  jumble  of  paradoxes.  She  had 
come  to  give,  out  of  the  bounty  of  her  skill 
and  her  womanhood;  instead  she  had  re 
ceived  far  more  abundantly  from  the  largess 
of  universal  brotherhood  and  sacrifice.  She 
had  come  to  minis'ter,  and  she  had  been 
ministered  unto  by  every  piece  of  human 
wreckage  swept  across  the  door-sill  of  the 
hospital.  She  had  thought  to  dispense  life, 
and  to  her  ever-increasing  wonder  she  had 
been  given  a  life  so  boundless  that  it  reached 
beyond  all  previous  dreams  of  space  or  time. 
She  was  learning  what  thousands  had  been 
learning  since  the  war  began,  those  who  had 

235 


LEERIE 

thrown  their  fortunes  into  its  crucible,  and 
that  is  that  if  anything  comes  out  at  all,  it 
comes  out  in  the  form  of  spirit  and  not  of 
flesh. 

Back  in  the  old  days  at  the  sanitarium 
she  had  felt  herself  bound  only  to  the  prob 
lems  and  emergencies  of  war.  It  had  never 
occurred  to  her  then  that  in  an  incredibly 
short  time  she  would  be  bothering  about 
matters  of  adjustment  afterward.  With 
peace  already  on  the  horizon,  she  was  troub 
led  a  hundredfold  more  than  she  had  been 
when  indefinite  war  was  the  promise  for  the 
future.  From  the  beginning  she  had  mar 
veled  at  the  buoyancy  and  optimism  of  the 
men  who  were  focusing  their  lives  within  the 
limits  of  each  day.  Many  of  them  never 
thought  in  terms  of  more  than  twenty-four 
hours;  often  it  was  less.  They  had  learned 
the  knack  of  intensive  living.  World-old 
truths  were  flashed  into  their  minds  like 
spot-lights;  frierfds  were  made  and  lost  in  a 
few  hours;  eternity  was  visioned  and  com 
passed  in  a  minute.  The  last  words  Jerry 
Donoghue  of  Ward  7- A  had  said  before  he 
went  west  came  back  to  Sheila  with  a  curious 
persistence. 

236 


THE   LAD   WHO   OUTSANG  THE   STARS 

"When  all's  said  and  done,  miss,  it's  been 
a  grand  life —  Brave  lads  for  comrades — a 
lass  who  kept  faith  to  the  end — a  good  fight 
an'  somethin'  good  to  fight  for —  Near  five 
years  of  it — wi'  perdition  grinnin'  ye  in  the 
face  an'  the  Holy  Mother  walkin'  at  your 
back —  Sure,  I  might  ha'  lived  fifty  year  in 
Letterkenny  an'  never  tasted  life  half  so 
plentiful — or — so — sweet . ' ' 

That  was  the  strange  part  of  it;  they  had 
all  found  life  "plentiful  an'  sweet" — nurses, 
surgeons,  soldiers  alike.  They  might  be 
homesick,  worn  out  with  the  business  of 
fighting  and  patching  up  afterward,  eternally 
aching  in  body  and  heart  with  the  long 
stretches  of  horror  and  work  with  little  sleep 
and  less  food,  and  yet  not  a  handful  out  of 
every  thousand  of  them  would  have  chosen 
to  quit  if  they  could. 

But  when  the  quitting-time  came,  when 
war  was  over,  what  was  going  to  happen 
then?  Sheila  wondered  it  about  the  boys 
who  lay  unconscious  on  their  stretchers, 
packed  in  the  room  about  her.  She  won 
dered  it  about  the  boys  conscious  in  their 
cots  below.  Most  of  all  she  wondered  it 
about  Ward  7-A.  It  was  going  to  hurt  so 

237 


LEERIE 

many  to  have  to  look  beyond  the  immediate 
day  into  a  procession  of  numberless  days 
stretching  into  years  and  years.  The  sudden 
relaxing  from  big  efforts  to  little  ones,  that 
would  hurt,  too,  like  the  uncramping  of  over 
strained  muscles.  And  the  being  thrown 
back  on  oneself  to  think,  to  act,  to  feel  for 
oneself  again — what  of  that?  It  was  like 
dismembering  a  gigantic  machine  and  scat 
tering  the  infinitesimal  parts  of  it  broadcast 
over  the  earth  to  function  alone.  Only  many 
of  the  parts  would  be  imperfect,  and  all  would 
have  souls  to  reckon  with. 

But  of  the  puzzle  of  it  one  fact  stood  out 
grippingly  vital  to  Sheila.  No  soul  must  be 
thrown  out  of  the  melting-pot  back  into  the 
old  accustomed  order  of  life  and  be  left  to 
feel  unfit  or  unnecessary.  There  must  be  a 
big,  compelling  place  for  every  man  who 
came  home.  Of  all  the  tragedies  of  war,  she 
could  dbnceive  no  greater  one  than  to  have 
these  men  who  had  put  no  limit  to  the  price 
they  were  willing  to  pay  to  nfake  the  world 
safe  for  democracy  sent  back  useless,  to  mark 
time  to  eternity. 

But  who  was  going  to  keep  this  from  hap 
pening?  How  were  the  thousands  of  mutiles 

238 


THE   LAD   WHO   OUTSANG   THE   STARS 

to  be  made  free  of  the  burden  of  dependence 
and  toleration?  Who  was  going  to  guard 
them  against  atrophy  of  spirit?  The  nurse 
gathered  up  the  last  of  the  instruments  and 
threw  them  in  the  sterilizer.  As  she  took  off 
her  apron  and  wiped  the  beads  of  sweat  from 
her  face,  her  chief  eyed  her  suspiciously. 

"Get  your  coffee  before  you  touch  those 
dressings  in  7-A.  Understand?  When  did 
you  have  your  clothes  off  last?"  He  growled 
like  a  good-natured  but  spent  old  dog. 

The  girl  gave  her  uniform  a  disgusted  look. 
"Pretty  bad,  isn't  it?  I  put  it  on  four — no, 
five  days  ago,  but  I've  had  my  shoes  off 
twice."  She  laid  an  impulsive  hand  on  the 
chief's  arm.  "Promise  about  the  coffee  if 
you'll  promise  to  do  the  dressings  with  me 
instead  of  Captain  Griggs.  He  calls  them 
the  'down-and-outers.'  I  can't  quite  stand 
for  that." 

"Well,  what  would  you  call  'em?" 

"The  invincibles,"  she  declared.  "Wouldn't 
you?" 

But  for  all  her  promise,  Sheila  O'Leary  did 
not  get  past  the  door  of  7-A  without  putting 
in  her  head  and  calling  out  a  "good  morning." 
Whereupon  twelve  Irish  tongues,  dripping  al- 

239 


LEERIE 

most  as  many  brogues,  flung  it  back  at  her 
with  a  vengeance. 

There  were  thirteen  of  them,  all  told,  the 
remnants  of  a  company  of  Royal  Irish  that 
had  crossed  the  Scheldt  with  Haig.  As  Larry 
Shea  had  put  it  on  the  day  of  their  arrival, 
they  "made  as  grand  leavin's  as  one  could 
expect  under  the  circumstances."  The  am 
bulances  that  had  brought  them,  along  with 
the  additional  seven  who  had  gone  west,  had 
pivoted  wrong  at  one  of  the  crossroads,  so 
that  the  American  Military  Hospital  No.  10 
had  fallen  heir  to  them  instead  of  the  B.  H.  T. 
It  is  recorded  that  even  the  chief  showed 
consternation  when  he  looked  them  over, 
and  Larry,  catching  the  look  and  being 
the  only  man  conscious  at  the  time,  snorted 
indignantly : 

"Well,  sir,  if  ye  think  we're  a  mess,  ye 
should  have  seen  the  Fritzies  we  left  behind. 
Furninst  them  we're  an  ordther  of  perfectly 
decent  lads."  And  Larry  had  crumpled  up 
into  a  grinning  unconsciousness. 

It  was  Larry  who  led  the  singing;  it  was 
Larry  now  who,  with  an  eye  on  the  one  silent 
figure  in  the  ward  and  another  on  the  nurse 
in  the  doorway,  threw  a  wheedling  remark  to 

240 


THE   LAD   WHO   OUTSANG   THE   STARS 

hold  her  with  them  a  moment  ''by  way  of 
heartenment  to  Jamie."  ''Wait  a  bit,  miss. 
Patsy  MacLean  was  just  askin'  were  ye  a 
good  hand  at  layin'  a  ghost?" 

Before  Sheila  could  answer,  Harrigan,  an 
Irish-American  orderly,  stepped  over  the 
threshold  and  shook  a  fist  at  7-A. 

"Aw,  cut  it  out.  The  way  this  bunch 
works  Miss  O'Leary  makes  me  sick.  Don't 
cher  know  she  hasn't  been  off  duty  for 
twenty  -  four  hours?  Let  her  go,  can't 
cher?" 

Johnnie  O'Neil,  from  the  far  end  of  the 
room,  smiled  the  smile  of  a  cherub.  "An' 
don't  ye  know,  laddie,  that  it's  always  the 
saints  in  heaven  that  has  the  worst  sinners 
on  their  hands?  'Tis  jealous  ye  are,  not 
being  wicked  enough  to  get  a  bit  more  of  her 
attention  yerself." 

Sheila  smiled  impartially  at  them  both,  and 
with  a  parting  promise  of  dressings  to  come 
she  hurried  off.  Ward  7-A  settled  itself  to 
wait  for  the  worst  and  the  best  that  the  day 
had  to  offer.  The  room  was  a  very  small 
one,  and  the  thirteen  cots  barely  crowded  into 
it,  with  space  at  the  foot  for  Jamie  O'Hara's 
wheel-chair  to  go  the  length  and  turn.  They 

241 


LEERIE 

had  been  kept  together  by  Sheila's  urgent 
plea  that  they  should  be  given  a  ward 
to  themselves  instead  of  scattering  them 
through  the  larger  wards,  and  it  is  doubtful  if 
in  all  the  war  a  more  quietly  merciful  act 
had  been  executed.  Not  one  of  the  thirteen 
but  would  have  scorned  to  show  any  sign  of 
dependence  on  the  others,  yet  intuitively  the 
girl  had  guessed  what  they  would  be  able  to 
give  one  another  in  the  matter  of  spiritual 
succor.  The  way  they  continually  hectored 
and  teased,  matched  wits  and  good  humor,  as 
they  had  matched  strength  and  daring  in  the 
old  fighting-days  before  the  hospital,  was 
meat  and  drink  to  the  souls  struggling  for 
dominance  over  mutilated  bodies.  United, 
they  were  men;  separated — Sheila  had  often 
shuddered  to  think  what  pitiful,  pain-tort 
ured  beings  they  might  have  been. 

When  she  returned  to  the  ward  the  chief 
was  with  her,  and  their  combined  arrival 
brought  forth  a  prolonged,  fortissimoed  wail 
shammed  forth  in  good  Gaelic  fashion. 
Larry's  great  hairy  arm  shot  out,  and  a 
vindictive  forefinger  was  wagged  in  the 
direction  of  the  third  cot. 

"  Ye'd  best  begin  with  Patsy  MacLean  this 

242 


THE   LAD   WHO   OUTSANG   THE   STARS 

day.  He  hasn't  been  laid  out  first  in  a  fort 
night." 

The  others,  taking  the  words  from  Larry's 
tongue,  chorused,  "Aye,  begin  wi'  Patsy,  the 
devil  take  him!" 

"Why  the  devil?  Wouldn't  Fritzie  do  as 
well?"  The  chief  smiled  indulgently  upon 
them  all. 

"'Tis  a  case  for  the  devil,  this  time.  Tell 
the  colonel  what  you  were  putting  over  us 
last  night,"  Michael  Kenney,  lance  -  cor 
poral,  growled  through  an  undercurrent  of 
chuckle. 

Patrick  MacLean,  the  color  -  sergeant, 
grinned  as  he  reached  out  a  welcoming  hand 
to  both  surgeon  and  nurse.  He  was  a  prime 
favorite  with  them,  as  with  his  own  lads. 
When  pain  wrestled  for  the  upper  hand, 
when  things  went  wrong,  moods  turned  black, 
or  nights  stretched  interminably  long  and 
unendurable,  Patsy  could  always  turn  the 
trick  and  produce  something  so  absorbingly 
interesting  or  ridiculous  that  the  pain  and 
the  long  nights  were  forgotten.  How  well 
Sheila  remembered  that  first  time  they  had 
dressed  his  wounds!  The  muscles  had  stood 
out  on  his  arms  like  whipcords ;  sweat  poured 

243 


LEERIE 

down  his  face.  He  fainted  twice,  each  time 
coming  round  to  drawl  out  his  story  in  that 
unforgetable  Irish  way: 

"We  were  dthrivin'  them  afore  us  like 
sheep,  all  so  tame  an'  sociable  I  was  forgettin' 
where  I  was.  Somehow  the  notion  took  me 
I  was  back  on  the  moorlan'  drivin'  the  flocks 
for  my  father,  when  a  Fritzie  overhead  drops 
a  bomb  on  our  captain.  ...  It  spatters  the 
mud  in  my  eyes  somethin'  terrible,  an'  when 
I  rubs  them  clean  again  the  machine-guns 
were  cacklin'  all  round  us  like  a  parcel  o' 
hens  layin'  eggs;  we'd  stumbled  on  a  nest  of 
them.  Holy  Pether,  I  was  mad!  I  was  for 
stickin'  the  colors  in  the  muzzle  o'  one  o' 
their  bloody  guns,  an'  I  sings  out  as  I  rush 
'em,  'Erin  go  bragh!'  Then  down  I  goes. 
Culmullen,  there,  comes  staggerin'  up.  '  Take 
the  colors,'  says  I.  '  I've  got  no  legs  to  carry 
'em  on/  '  I  can't,'  says  he; '  I've  got  no  arms 
to  shoulder  'em.'  ...  A  bit  aftherwards  I 
sees  Jamie — he's  second  in  command — come 
runnin'  up  wild,  but  his  arms  an'  legs  is  still 
in  pairs,  so  I  shouts  afore  things  go  black, 
'The  colors,  Jamie,  ye  take  the  colors.' 
'Wish  to  God,  Patsy,  I  could,'  says  he,  'but 
I  can't  see.'  .  .  .  Faith,  weren't  we  a  healthy 

244 


THE   LAD   WHO   OUTSANG   THE   STARS 

lot,  miss?  An'  we  the  Royal  Irish!"  He 
had  grinned  then  as  he  was  grinning  now. 

Culmullen  in  the  next  cot,  a  schoolmaster 
from  Bally gowan,  raised  his  head.  "Miss 
O'Leary,  Patsy's  the  worst  liar  in  Ulster. 
Ye  might  keep  that  in  mind  whenever  he  has 
anything  to  tell.  If  I  had  had  the  schooling 
of  ye,  I'd  have  thrashed  the  thruth  into  ye, 
ye  rascal!  Will  ye  kindly  lean  over  and 
brush  the  hair  out  of  my  eyes,  and  if  ye  tickle 
my  nose  this  time,  I'll  have  Larry  thrash  ye 
for  me  the  instant  he's  up." 

The  color-sergeant  pulled  himself  over  and 
gently  brushed  back  the  straggling  hair. 
"Such  a  purty  lad!"  he  murmured,  sarcas 
tically.  "  What's  an  arm  or  two  so  long's  the 
Fritzies  didn't  ruin  one  o'  them  handsome 
features — nor  shorten  the  length  o'  your 
tongue." 

"What  is  it  this  time,  Sergeant?"  Sheila 
spoke  coaxingly  as  she  bent  to  the  dressings. 

"Well,  ye  know  I've  said  from  the  begin- 
nin'  'twas  no  ways  natural  havin'  them  legs 
o'  mine  twistin'  an'  achin'  same  as  if  they 
were  still  hangin'  onto  me.  I  leave  it  to 
both  of  yez.  If  they'd  been  anyways  decent 
legs  an'  considerate  o'  the  kindness  I've 

245 


LEERIE 

always  shown  them,  wouldn't  they  have  quit 
pestherin'  me  when  they  took  Dutch  leave?" 

"Stop  moralizin',"  shouted  Johnnie 
O'Neil,  the  piper  from  Antrim.  "Get 
down  to  the  p'int  o'  your  tale." 

"It  hasn't  any  point:  it's  flat,"  growled 
the  lance-corporal. 

Unembarrassed,  Patsy  MacLean  went  on: 
"I  was  a-thinkin'  this  all  over  again  last 
night,  a-listenin'  to  the  ambulances  comin' 
in,  when  a  breath  o'  wind  pushes  the  door 
open  a  bit,  an'  in  walks,  as  natural  as  life,  the 
ghost  o'  them  two  legs.  'Tis  the  gospel  truth 
I'm  tellin'  ye.  They  walked  a  bit  bow- 
legged,  same  as  they  always  did,  straight 
through  the  door  an'  down  the  ward.  An* 
the  queer  thing  is  they  never  stopped  by 
Larry's  cot  or  Casey  Ryan's — the  heathen ! — 
but  came  right  on  to  me." 

"Faith,  they  wouldn't  have  had  the  nerve 
to  stop.  The  leg  Casey  lost  was  as  straight 
as  a  hazel  wand,  same  as  mine."  Larry 
snorted  contemptuously. 

"The  two  of  yez  are  jealous."  Patsy 
lowered  his  voice  to  a  mock  whisper  and  con 
fided  to  the  chief  and  Sheila,  "They  know 
they'll  have  to  be  buyin'  a  good  pair  o'  shoes 

246 


THE   LAD   WHO   OUTSANG   THE   STARS 

an'  throwin'  the  odd  away,  while  I'll  be  savin' 
enough  from  the  shoes  I'll  never  have  to  be 
buyin'  to  keep  mysel'  in  cigars  for  the  rest  o' 
my  life." 

"But  Patsy's  wond therm'  can  ye  lay  the 
ghost,  miss?"  Timothy  Brennan,  who  had 
lost  the  "cream  of  his  face,"  repeated  the 
question  Larry  had  asked  a  half-hour  before. 
The  rest  of  the  ward  tittered  expectantly. 

"Let  me  see — "  The  Irish  blood  in  her 
steadied  the  nurse's  hands,  while  she  drew 
her  lips  into  quizzical  solemnity  and  winked 
at  Culmullen  over  her  shoulder.  "I  always 
thought  it  was  restlessness  that  sent  ghosts 
walking.  Maybe  these  have  come  back 
looking  for  their  boots." 

The  titter  broke  into  a  roar  of  delight. 
"Thrue  for  ye!"  shouted  Parley-voo  Flynn, 
pounding  the  arm  of  Jamie's  chair  with  his 
one  fist.  "All  ye've  got  to  do,  Patsy,  is  to 
be  puttin'  your  boots  beside  your  chair  onct 
more,  an'  them  legs  will  scrooch  comfortably 
into  them  an'  never  haunt  ye  again.  The 
lass  is  right,  isn't  she,  Jamie?" 

Eleven  pairs  of  eyes  and  an  odd  one  shifted 
apprehensively  from  the  lad  who  was  being 
dressed  to  the  lad  in  the  wheel-chair,  and  the 

17  247 


LEERIE 

eyes  all  showed  varying  degrees  of  trouble, 
uncertainty,  and  sorrow.  They  had  a  way 
of  searching  Jamie  out  in  this  fashion  many 
times  a  day,  while  he  sat  very  still,  with  eyes 
bandaged  and  lips  that  never  flinched  but 
never  broke  to  a  smile. 

Larry  shook  a  hairy  fist  at  Parley-voo  and 
answered  the  question  himself: 

"Of  course  she's  right!  Isn't  she  always? 
An'  who  but  a  heathen  would  be  doubtin' 
the  manners  of  a  ghost?" 

"Aye,  but  where  will  I  be  gettin'  the 
boots?"  Patsy  made  a  sour  grimace.  "Me 
own  purty  ones  had  Christian  burial  some 
where  back  in  that  tremendous  mud-puddle. 
Would  any  gentleman,  now,  still  havin'  two 
good  legs,  give  me  the  loan  of  his  boots 
for  one  night?  Size  eleven,  if  I  don't 
disremember." 

"That's  Teig's  number.  Lend  him  yours, 
Teig,  like  a  good  lad,  or  we'll  never  be  rid  o' 
them  ghosts."  Mat  O'Shaughnessy,  at  the 
other  end  of  the  line,  fairly  shook  with  the 
depth  of  his  wail. 

Teig  Magee  chuckled.  He  had  lost  an 
inch  or  so  of  back  and  was  waiting  the  glad 
day  when  they  could  mend  it  with  an  inch  or 

248 


THE   LAD   WHO   OUTSANG   THE   STARS 

so  of  shin-bone;  in  the  mean  time  he  was 
paralyzed.  "Say,  Docthor,  would  ye  mind 
reachm'  undther  my  pillow  an'  fetchin'  them 
out  for  me?  The  lads  have  a  way  of  for 
ge  ttin'  my  hands  are  temporarily  engaged. 
Thank  ye.  Ye  can  have  them,  Patsy,  but 
ye'll  have  to  go  bail  your  ghosts  won't  up 
an'  thramp  off  wi'  them  entirely." 

It  ended  by  the  schoolmaster  giving  se 
curity — a  half-crown  with  a  bullet  hole 
through  it.  Sheila  was  appointed  custodian, 
and  the  boots  were  placed  beside  the  color- 
sergeant's  cot  "against  the  comin'  night." 

As  the  chief  and  Sheila  passed  on  from 
cot  to  cot,  the  spirits  of  Ward  7-A  never 
wavered.  Johnnie,  who  had  piped  the  lads 
into  battle  and  out  for  four  years,  and  who 
daily  rejoiced  over  the  fact  that  Fritzie  had 
shown  the  good  sense  to  take  a  foot  instead  of 
a  hand,  told  them  that  he  was  in  rare  luck 
now,  for  there  would  be  time  to  make  wee 
Johnnie  at  home  the  grandest  piper  in  all  of 
Ireland — an  honor  he  could  never  have 
promised  himself  before. 

There  was  "  Bertha"  Milliken,  named  for  the 
big  gun  he  had  put  out  of  commission  and  the 
gun  crew  he  had  captured.  He  had  been  given 

249 


LEERIE 

the  V.  C.  for  that.  His  pet  joke  was  telling 
how  the  Fritzies  grudged  him  its  possession 
by  shooting  it  away  on  the  Scheldt  along  with 
a  good  bit  that  was  under  it.  The  nurse  and 
surgeon  handled  "Bertha"  very  carefully; 
there  was  no  knowing  just  what  was  going  to 
happen  to  him.  Casey  Ryan  had  lost  the  odd 
of  'most  everything  the  Lord  had  started  him 
with,  as  he  put  it.  An  eye,  an  ear,  a  lung, 
and  a  leg  were  gone,  and  he  was  beating  all 
the  others  at  getting  well.  Mat  O'Shaugh- 
nessy  had  it  in  the  ''vital."  He  was  con 
tinuously  boasting  that  it  was  the  handiest 
place  of  all,  and  if  it  didn't  get  him  he'd  be 
the  only  perfect  specimen  invalided  home. 

"Parley-voo,"  the  only  one  of  them  who 
essayed  French,  had  wounds  many  but  in 
conspicuous.  He  was  given  to  counting  a 
hypothetical  fortune  that  might  be  his  if  the 
Empire  would  give  him  a  shilling  for  every 
time  he  had  been  hit.  Joseph  Daly  and 
"Gospel"  Smith,  the  one  Methodist,  carried 
head  wounds,  while  "Granny"  Sullivan,  the 
oldest,  wisest,  and  most  comforting  of  the 
company,  had  one  smashed  hip  and  a  hole 
through  the  other,  "the  devil  of  a  combina 
tion."  Never  had  the  atmosphere  of  7- A 

250 


THE   LAD   WHO   OUTSANG   THE   STARS 

been  keener  or  spicier.  Jamie  alone  sat  still 
and  silent. 

Jamie  was  the  last  to  be  dressed,  and  be 
cause  there  was  little  to  do  the  chief  slipped 
away  and  left  him  to  Sheila.  As  the  nurse 
passed  from  Mat's  cot  to  the  wheel-chair, 
eleven  pairs  of  eyes  and  an  odd  one  followed 
her.  A  hush  fell  suddenly  on  the  ward.  The 
lads  never  intended  this  should  happen,  but 
somehow,  at  the  same  time  every  day,  the 
silence  gripped  them,  and  they  seemed  power 
less  to  stay  it.  It  was  *  *  Granny ' '  Sullivan  who 
first  threw  it  off. 

"  'Tis  a  grand  day  outside,  Jamie.  Maybe 
ye're  feelin'  the  sun,  now,  comin'  through  the 
window?" 

The  nurse  had  lifted  the  bandage  from  the 
eyes.  There  was  nothing  there  but  empty 
sockets,  almost  healed.  One  could  hear  the 
quick  intake  of  breath  from  the  watching 
twelve,  while  every  face  registered  an  agony 
it  had  scorned  to  show  for  its  own  disable 
ment.  But  for  Jamie,  "the  singing  lad  from 
Deny"  as  they  lovingly  called  him,  it  was 
different.  They  could  face  their  own  con 
ditions  with  amazing  jocularity,  but  they 
writhed  daily  under  the  torment  of  Jamie's. 

251 


LEERIE 

They  could  brave  it  no  better  than  could  he. 
For  to  put  eternal  darkness  on  the  lad  who 
loved  the  light,  who  would  sit  spellbound  be 
fore  the  play  of  colors  in  the  east  at  dawn  or 
the  flash  of  moonlight  across  troubled  water, 
who  could  make  a  song  out  of  the  smile  of  a 
child  or  the  rhythm  of  flying  birds  in  the  sky, 
that  was  damnable.  An  arch-fiend  might 
have  conceived  it,  but  where  was  God  to  let 
it  happen?  A  crippled  Jamie  without  an 
arm  or  a  leg  was  endurable — that  cried  out 
for  no  blasphemy — but  a  Jamie  without  eyes 
— God  in  heaven,  how  could  it  be! 

The  face  of  the  singing  lad  was  the  face  of 
a  dreamer,  as  exquisite  as  a  piece  of  marble 
that  might  have  been  fashioned  by  Praxiteles 
for  a  sun  god.  Since  the  battle  on  the 
Scheldt  it  had  become  a  white  mask,  shorn 
of  all  dreams.  Almost  it  might  have  been  a 
death-mask  for  the  soul  of  Jamie  O'Hara. 
It  showed  no  response  now  when  "Granny" 
spoke;  only  the  lad's  hands  fluttered  a  mo 
ment  toward  the  window,  then  dropped 
heavily  back  into  his  lap. 

"Aye,  maybe  I  feel  it."  The  voice  was 
colorless  and  tired.  "  I  can't  be  remembering 
clear  sunlight  any  more.  The  last  days  of 

252 


THE   LAD   WHO   OUTSANG   THE   STARS 

the  fighting,  smoke  was  too  thick  in  the  sky, 
or  the  rains  fell." 

Eleven  pairs  of  eyes  and  one  odd  one  cast 
about  for  some  inspiration.  "Sure,  think  o' 
somethin'  pleasanter  nor  cannon  smoke  an* 
rain.  Think  o* — "  "Granny"  floundered  for 
a  moment,  then  gave  up  in  despair. 

"That's  all  I  see  when  I  look  up.  When  I 
look  down,  it's  worse — an  everlasting  earth, 
covered  with  mud  and  dying  men!"  Jamie 
shivered. 

Larry  struggled  out  of  his  torment.  "I 
say,  Jamie,  don't  ye  mind  the  song  ye  were 
makin'  for  us  the  day  we  fell  back  from 
Cambrai?  'Twas  an  Irish  one,  full  o'  the  sun 
an'  the  singin'  birds  of  Donegal.  Wi'  the 
Fritzies  risin'  like  a  murdtherous  tide  behind 
us,  'twas  all  that  kept  the  heart  in  us  that 
day.  Ye  say  it  for  Miss  O'Leary.  Sure, 
ye've  never  said  a  song  for  her  yet." 

Jamie  shook  his  head.  "I'm  sorry,  lad; 
I've  lost  it.  I  was  making  so  many  songs 
those  days — ye  couldn't  be  expecting  a  body 
to  carry  them  all  about  in  his  head.  Now 
could  ye?"  The  lips  tried  bravely  to  smile, 
and  failed  again. 

But  Larry  grinned  triumphantly.     "Sure 

253 


LEERIE 

'Granny'  has  it  wrote  down.  He  showed  it 
to  me  once.  Fetch  it,  'Granny,'  an'  let  Jamie 
be  re — "  He  broke  off,  aghast;  the  lads 
about  him  were  staring  in  absolute  horror. 
Only  the  singing  lad  showed  nothing.  He 
might  not  have  heard,  or,  hearing,  the  words 
were  meaningless. 

So  Sheila  took  matters  into  her  own  hands. 
She  covered  the  eyes  with  fresh  gauze, 
wrapped  Jamie  up,  and  bundled  him  out  in 
his  chair  to  Harrigan  with  the  remark  that 
the  day  was  too  fine  to  miss  and  there  was 
more  of  it  outside  the  hospital  than  in.  She 
watched  until  she  had  seen  Harrigan  take 
him  to  a  sunny,  wind-sheltered  corner  of  the 
gardens,  and  then  she  came  back  to  7-A. 
She  was  thinking  of  Peter  Brooks,  her  man 
at  the  front,  and  she  was  trying  to  fathom 
with  all  her  heart  what  manner  of  healing  she 
would  give  had  Peter  come  back  to  her  as 
Jamie  O'Hara  had  come.  She  closed  the 
door  of  the  ward  behind  her  and  faced  the 
twelve. 

"Lads,  what  are  we  going  to  do  for  Jamie?" 

Larry  groaned  out  loud.     It  was  the  first 

luxury  of  expression  he  had  indulged  in  since 

Jamie  had  been  wheeled  out.     "Aye,  what 

254 


THE   LAD   WHO   OUTSANG   THE   STARS 

are  we  goin'  to  do?  That's  what  every  man 
of  us  has  been  askin'  himself  since — since  he 
knew." 

"We  act  like  a  crowd  o'  half-wits,  a-thryin' 
to  boost  his  spirits  a  bit,  an'  all  the  time  he 
grows  whiter  an'  quieter."  Patsy  turned  his 
head  away;  his  lips  were  twitching. 

"Aye,  that's  God's  truth."  "Bertha's" 
hoarse  croak  was  heavy  with  despair.  "Ye 
can  see  for  yourself,  miss,  it's  noways  nat'ral 
for  Jamie — that's  the  worst  of  it.  It's  been 
Jamie,  just,  that  always  put  heart  back  in  us 
when  things  went  blackest.  Wasn't  it  him 
that  made  it  easy  goin'  for  them  that  went 
west?  Can  one  of  us  mind  the  time  he  wasn't 
ready  with  a  song  to  fetch  us  over  the  top,  or 
through  the  mud — or  straight  to  death,  if 
them  was  the  orders?  No  matter  how  loud 
the  guns  screeched,  we  could  always  hear 
Jamie  above  them." 

"  We  could  hear  him  when  we  couldn't  have 
heard  another  sound,"  Culmullen  mumbled. 

"Gospel"  Smith  raised  a  bandaged  head  and 
leveled  piercing  eyes  at  Sheila.  "You  know 
what  the  Gospel  says  about  the  stars  singing 
in  the  morning — all  together  like?  Well, 
Jamie  was  the  lad  who  could  outsing  them. 

255 


You  know  how  it  feels  at  that  gray,  creepy 
hour  o'  dawn,  when  a  man's  heart  jumps  to 
his  throat  and  sticks  there,  and  his  hands 
shake  like  a  girl's?  Often's  the  time  we'd  be 
waiting  orders  to  attack  just  like  that.  The 
stars  might  have  shouted  themselves  clear  o' 
the  sky,  for  all  the  good  they'd  have  done  us; 
but  Jamie  was  different.  He'd  make  us  a 
couplet  or  a  verse  to  sing  low  under  our 
breath,  something  you  could  put  your  teeth 
into.  And  when  the  orders  came  our  hearts 
were  always  back  where  the  Lord  had  put 
them." 

"Granny"  Sullivan  plucked  nervously  at 
his  blanket.  "An'  now,  when  we  want  to 
hearten  him,  we're  hurtin'  instead.  Seems 
as  if  the  devil  took  hold  of  our  tongues  an' 
spilled  the  wrong  words  off." 

"Shall  I  tell  you  what  I  would  try  to  do, 
if  I  were  one  of  you  Irish  lads  who  had  fought 
with  him?"  Sheila's  face  was  as  drawn  as 
any  of  the  twelve. 

"In  God's  name  tell  us!"  Johnnie,  the 
piper,  spoke  as  reverently  as  if  he  were  at 
mass. 

"You  heard  what  he  said  just  now  about 
seeing  nothing  but  mud  and  dying  men? 

256 


THE  LAD   WHO  OUTSANG   THE   STARS 

Well,  that's  the  trouble.  He  can't  see  any 
longer  things  he  loves,  the  things  he  has  al 
ways  carried  in  his  heart.  All  the  beautiful 
memories  have  been  lost,  and  all  he  has  left 
are  the  horrors  of  those  last  days.  He's  got 
nothing  left  to  make  into  songs  any  more. 
Don't  you  see?  You've  got  to  bring  that 
back  to  him,  that  power  to  see — here." 
The  girl's  hand  pressed  her  heart. 

"Aye,  but  how?"  Patsy  asked  it  breath 
lessly. 

"Bring  him  back  his  memories — memories 
of  Ireland,  of  the  things  he  loved  best  to  sing 
about.  You  have  eyes;  make  him  see." 

A  hush  fell  on  Ward  7-A.  Then  Timothy 
Brennan  muttered  as  a  man  alone:  "'Tis  the 
words  of  a  woman.  God's  blessin'  on  her!" 

All  through  the  day  there  rang  through 
Sheila's  ears  the  last  words  Jamie  had  said 
to  her  that  morning.  He  had  turned  his  face 
back,  as  Harrigan  had  wheeled  him  away,  to 
answer  her  "All  right,  Jamie?"  with  "As  right 
as  ever  I'll  be.  Do  ye  know,  the  O'Haras 
are  famous  for  their  long  living?  My 
grandfather  lived  to  be  ninety-eight,  and  his 
father  to  be  over  a  hundred.  That  leaves 
me  seventy-five  years,  maybe.  Seventy-five 

257 


years!  And  already  I'm  fearin'  the  length  of 
a  day."  She  was  still  hearing  them  when  she 
came  back  to  the  ward  at  day's  end  to  find 
Jamie  in  his  old  accustomed  place  by  the 
window.  His  face  was  as  masklike  as  ever, 
and  Larry  was  talking: 

"Sure,  I  mind  often  an'  often  how  the 
neighbors  used  to  tell  me  if  I'd  lie  asleep  with 
my  ear  to  a  fairy  rath  I'd  be  hearin'  their 
music  an'  seein'  their  dancin'.  But  I  never 
did.  But  I  saw  a  sight  as  grand,  the  flight  o' 
the  skylark  at  ring-o'-day.  Many's  the  time 
I've  seen  them  leave  the  marsh  an'  go  liltin' 
into  the  blue." 

"And  the  lilting!"  Culmullen  closed  his 
eyes  the  better  to  recall  it.  "I  mind  the  last 
time  I  heard  one.  The  sky  was  turned 
orange,  and  the  lough  turned  gold.  The 
marsh  was  glistening  with  mist,  and  out  of 
the  reeds  where  her  nest  was  she  flew.  It  was 
like  a  feathered  bundle  of  song  thrown 
skyward." 

"Aye,  what  a  song!"  Johnnie,  the  piper, 
spoke  with  ecstasy.  "Hark!  I  can  make  it." 
He  puckered  his  lips,  and  through  them  came 
the  sweet,  lilting  notes  of  the  lark's  matin 
song. 

258 


THE   LAD   WHO   OUTSANG   THE   STARS 

"Make  it  again."  Jamie  was  leaning  for 
ward  in  his  chair,  his  hands  gripping  the  arms. 

Again  the  piper  whistled  it  through,  and 
then  again  and  again.  A  smile  brushed 
Jamie's  lips,  and  the  others,  watching,  breath 
less,  saw. 

"What  is  it?"  asked  "Granny/'  softly. 

"Naught.  Only  for  the  moment  I  was 
thinking  I  could  be  smelling  the  dew  on  the 
bogs,  yonder.  Can  ye  pipe  for  the  black 
birds,  Johnnie?" 

And  Johnnie  piped. 

So  a  new  order  of  things  was  established  in 
Ward  7-A,  and  as  heretofore  the  lads  had  vied 
in  witty  derision  of  their  calamities  they 
vied  now  with  one  another  in  telling  tales  of 
Ireland.  Each  marshaled  forth  his  dearest, 
greenest  memory,  clothed  in  its  best,  to  fill 
the  ears  and  heart  of  Jamie  O'Hara.  Some 
times  he  smiled,  and  then  there  was  a  great, 
silent  rejoicing  among  the  twelve;  sometimes 
he  asked  for  more,  and  then  tongues  tripped 
over  one  another  in  mad  effort  to  furnish  forth 
a  memory  more  wonderful  than  all  that  had 
gone  before.  But  more  often  he  sat  still  and 
white,  as  if  he  heard  nothing.  And  in  the 
midst  of  it  all,  as  the  lads  drew  each  day 

259 


LEERIE 

nearer  to  health,  Sheila  noted  a  new  uneasi 
ness  among  them.  It  was  Larry  who  spoke 
the  trouble  while  the  nurse  was  doing  his 
dressings.  He  whispered  it,  so  the  others 
should  not  hear. 

"By  rights  we  don't  belong  here.  Well, 
they'll  be  movin'  us  soon  as  we're  mended, 
won't  they?" 

The  nurse  nodded. 

"Invalided  home.  Ye  know  what  that 
means?" 

Again  the  nurse  nodded. 

"Mind  ye,  there's  been  never  a  word 
dropped  atween  us,  but  we're  all  fearin'  it 
like — "  Larry  rubbed  his  sleeve  over  his 
mouth  twice  before  he  went  on.  "While 
we've  got  Jamie  to  think  about,  we  can  man 
age,  but  when  he's  packed  off  somewheres — to 
learn  readin'  an'  writin'  for  the  blind — an' 
we're  scattered  to  the  four  winds  o'  Ireland, 
we'll  be  realizin'  for  the  first  time  what  we 
are,  just.  Then  what  are  we  goin'  to  do?  I 
ask  ye  it  honest,  miss." 

And  honestly  Sheila  answered,  "I  don't 
know." 

A  day  later  "Granny"  whispered  over  his 
dressings:  "Faith  there's  a  shadow  creeping 

260 


THE   LAD   WHO   OUTSANG   THE   STARS 

over  the  sill.  Can't  ye  be  feeling  it?"  And 
the  color-sergeant's  spirits  failed  to  rise  that 
day  at  all. 

Yet  for  all  their  fears  the  inevitable  day 
came  upon  them  unawares  and  caught  them, 
as  you  might  say,  red-handed.  Sheila  had 
stolen  a  half-hour  from  rest  and  was  sitting 
with  them,  listening  to  Casey  Ryan,  the  Gal- 
way  lad,  tell  of  the  fishing  in  Kilkieran  Bay. 

Larry  took  the  words  out  of  his  mouth. 
"'Twill  be  the  proud  day  for  us  all  when  we 
cast  our  eyes  on  Irish  wather  again,  whether 
'tis  in  Dublin  Bay  or  off  the  Skerries." 

"Aye,  and  smelling  the  thorn  bloom  and 
hearing  the  throstles  sing!"  "Granny's"  re 
joicing  followed  on  the  heels  of  Larry's,  while 
he  shook  his  fist  at  him  in  warning. 

Larry  threw  a  helpless  look  at  Jamie  and 
sank  back  on  his  pillow,  while  Patsy  roared 
his  ultimatum:  "I'd  a  deal  sight  rather  hear 
a  throstle  sing  than  see  all  the  bloody  wather 
in  the  world.  Larry's  fair  mad  about  wather 
ever  since  he  went  dirty  for  a  fortnight  at 
Vimy." 

"Sure,  the  thing  I'm  most  wantin'," 
croaked  "Bertha,"  "is  to  hear  the  wind  in 
the  heather  again,  deep  o'  the  night.  There 

261 


LEERIE 

isn't  a  sweeter  sound  than  that,  so  soft  an' 
croony-like." 

"Yes,  an'  I'll  be  wantin'  to  hear  the  old 
cracked  voice  o'  Biddy  Donoghue  callin' 
cockles  at  the  Antrim  fair.  Faith,  she's 
worth  thravelin'  far  to  be  hearin'.  An'  think 
o'  gettin'  your  tooth  on  a  live  cockle!" 
Johnnie  moistened  his  lips  in  anticipation  as 
he  broke  forth  in  a  falsetto : 

"Cockles — good  cockles — here's  some  for  your  dad, 
An'  some  for  your  lassie — an'  more  for  your  lad." 

Amid  the  appreciative  chuckle  of  the  lis 
teners,  the  door  of  Ward  7- A  opened  and  the 
chief  stood  on  the  threshold.  He  smiled  as  a 
man  may  when  he  has  a  hurting  thing  to  do 
and  grudges  the  doing  of  it.  He  saluted  the 
remnants  of  Company  —  of  the  Royal  Irish : 

"Orders,  lads.  You'll  be  leaving  to-mor 
row  for — Blighty." 

There  was  nothing  but  silence,  a  silence  of 
agony  and  apprehension,  until  Patsy  whis 
pered,  "Leavin'  together,  sir?" 

"I— hope  so." 

"Thravelin' — the  same?"  It  was  Timothy 
Brennan  this  time. 

"I  don't  know." 

262 


THE   LAD   WHO   OUTSANG   THE   STARS 

"Will  we  be  afther  makin'  the  same  hos 
pital  yondther — do  ye  think?"  It  took  all 
Larry's  fighting  soul  to  keep  his  voice 
steady. 

"I-      It  isn't  likely." 

"Thank  ye,  sir." 

That  was  all.  The  chief  left,  and  Sheila 
sat  on  in  the  stillness  of  Ward  7 -A,  wondering 
wherein  lay  the  value  of  theories  when  in  the 
face  of  the  first  crucial  need  one  sat  stunned 
and  helpless.  The  mask  of  good  spirits  had 
dropped  from  the  lads  like  a  camouflaged 
screen;  behind  it  showed  the  naked,  bleeding 
souls  of  twelve  terror-stricken  men.  For 
Jamie's  mask  was  still  upon  him.  If  the 
orders  had  brought  any  added  misery  to  him, 
no  one  could  have  told. 

As  Sheila  looked  into  their  faces  and  saw 
all  that  was  written  there,  she  gripped  her 
hands  behind  her  and  tried  to  tell  them  what 
she  had  thought  out  so  clearly  in  the  operat 
ing-room  days  and  days  before.  But  the 
message  she  had  thought  was  hers  to  give  had 
somehow  become  meaningless.  What  guar 
antee  had  she  to  make  that  their  lives  would 
go  on  being  vital,  necessary  to  the  big  scheme 
of  humanity?  How  could  she  promise  that 

IS  263 


LEERIE 

out  of  their  share  in  the  war  and  the  price 
they  had  paid  would  be  wrought  something 
so  fine,  so  strong  and  eternal,  that  the  years 
ahead  must  needs  hold  plenty  for  their  hearts 
and  souls?  She  could  not  get  beyond  the 
realization  that  it  was  all  only  theory,  the 
theory  of  one  glowingly  healthy  mind  in  a 
sound  body.  If  such  a  promise  could  be 
given  at  all,  it  must  not  come  from  such  as 
she;  if  it  was  to  bear  faith,  it  must  be  spoken 
by  one  who  had  gone  through  the  crucible  as 
they  had  gone  through — and  come  out  even 
as  they  had  come. 

She  looked  at  Jamie.  If  Jamie  had  only 
had  eyes  to  catch  the  meaning  of  the  thing 
she  was  trying  to  say!  If  he  who  had  sung 
courage  into  their  hearts  in  the  old  days 
could  sing  it  once  again!  A  message  from 
Jamie  would  bring  it  home. 

But  there  was  nothing  in  that  blank,  white 
face  Sheila  could  reach.  He  seemed  as  he 
had  seemed  from  the  beginning,  a  soul  apart, 
so  wrapped  in  its  own  despair  that  no  human 
cry  of  need  could  shake  it  free.  In  despera 
tion  she  looked  at  Larry.  His  eyes  were 
closed;  his  face  had  gone  almost  as  white  as 
Jamie's.  Patsy  was  gazing  at  the  ceiling; 

264 


THE   LAD   WHO   OUTSANG   THE   STARS 

the  veins  on  his  arms  stood  out  as  they  had  on 
that  first  day  when  he  had  fainted  twice  from 
the  pain  of  his  dressing.  Down  the  line  of 
cots  the  nurse's  eyes  traveled,  and  back  again. 
Every  lad  was  past  speaking  for  another; 
each  lay  transfixed  with  his  own  personal 
fear. 

The  minutes  seemed  intolerable.  The  si 
lence  grew  heavy  with  so  much  muffling  of 
despair.  Sheila  found  herself  praying  that 
the  men  would  groan,  cry  out,  curse,  any 
thing  to  break  the  ghastly  hush.  Then  sud 
denly  "Bertha"  propped  himself  as  best  he 
could  on  an  elbow  and  croaked:  "For  the 
love  of  Mary,  miss,  can't  ye  cram  us  with 
morphine  the  night?  'Twould  save  the 
British  Empire  a  few  shillin's'  expense  and 
them  at  home  a  deal  o'  misery." 

And  the  color-sergeant  choked  out,  "Aye, 
in  God's  mercy  send  us  west,  along  wi'  them 
lucky  seven  that  has  gone  already!" 

Without  knowing  why  she  did  it,  Sheila 
reached  over  and  gripped  one  of  Jamie's 
hands.  "Help,  can't  you?"  she  whispered. 
The  late  afternoon  sun  was  shining  through 
the  window  back  of  him.  The  glory  of  it 
was  full  on  his  face,  so  that  every  lad  in  the 

265 


LEERIE 

ward  saw  plainly  the  smile  that  crept  into  the 
lips,  a  tender,  whimsical  smile  that  belonged 
to  the  Jamie  of  old.  And  the  deep,  vibrating 
voice  was  the  voice  of  the  Jamie  of  fighting 
days. 

"Patsy,  ye  rascal!  I'm  thinking  it  was 
like  yourself  to  come  breaking  into  the  first 
song  I've  had  on  my  lips  in  a  month.  You've 
nearly  ruined  it  for  me,  lad." 

Amazement,  incredulity,  thanksgiving 
swept  over  the  faces  like  puffs  of  wind  over 
young  wheat.  Unnoticed,  Sheila  turned  to 
the  window  and  wept  a  scattering  of  tears 
that  could  no  longer  be  held  back.  Jamie 
pulled  himself  out  of  the  wheel-chair  and 
found  his  way  down  the  space  at  the  foot  of 
the  cots  to  the  door.  He  was  very  straight, 
and  his  head  was  high. 

"Just  a  minute,  lads."  He  dug  his  hands 
deep  into  his  pockets.  "Before  I  give  ye  the 
song  I've  made  for  ye,  there's  something  I 
have  to  be  saying  first.  Miss  O'Leary  was 
right  when  she  said  a  man  has  more  than  one 
pair  of  eyes  to  see  with.  He  can  see  grand 
with  his  heart— if  he's  shown  the  way. 
That's  what  I  have  to  thank  ye  for  this  day, 
the  wiping  of  my  memory  clean  of  those  last 

266 


THE   LAD   WHO   OUTSANG   THE   STARS 

days,  and  the  showing  me  how  to  see  anew. 
Ye've  given  Ireland  back  to  me  with  her  lark 
songs,  her  blue,  dancing  water,  her  wind- 
brushed  heather  like  a  purple  sea.  Ye've 
made  the  world  beautiful  for  me  again,  and 
ye've  given  me  the  heart  to  sing." 

He  stopped  a  minute  and  smiled  again. 
"I  was  thinking  all  this  when  the  chief  came 
in,  and  after  that  I  was  so  busy  with  the  song 
that  sprang  into  my  mind  that  I  came  near 
forgetting  the  lot  o'  ye.  If  that  rascal  Patsy 
hadn't  interrupted  me,  faith,  I  might  have 
made  the  song  longer." 

Sheila  turned  back  from  the  window. 
There  was  a  grin  on  the  face  of  every  lad, 
and  on  the  face  of  Jamie  was  the  look  of  a 
man  who  had  found  his  dreams  again.  The 
song  being  new  to  his  tongue,  he  gave  it 
slowly : 

"They  say  the  earth's  a  bit  shot  up — well,  we  can 

say  the  same, 
But,  praise  to  every  lad  that's  fought,  the  scars  they 

show  no  shame. 
And  for  those  who  have  prayed  for  us — why,  here's 

an  end  to  tears. 

Sure,  God  can  do  much  healing  in  the  next  handful 
of  years. 

267 


LEERIE 

"So,  Johnnie,  set  your  chanter  and  blow  your  pipes 

full  strong, 
And,  Larry,  raise  your  voice  again  and  lead  our 

marching  song. 
Let  Mac  unfurl  the  colors — till  they  sweep  yon 

crimson  west, 
For  we're  still  the  Royal  Irish,  a-fighting  with  the 

best." 

And  that  is  precisely  the  way  they  went 
when  they  left  the  American  Military  Hos 
pital  No.  10  the  next  morning.  The  color- 
sergeant  led.  Jamie  walked  beside  the 
stretcher  to  give  a  hand  with  the  staff. 
Johnnie  sat  bolt  upright,  bolstered  with  many 
pillows,  to  enable  him  to  get  a  firm  grip  on 
the  pipes,  and  he  skirled  the  "Shule  Aroon" 
as  he  had  never  skirled  before.  Larry's  voice 
again  boomed  in  the  lead,  and  every  man  in 
the  hospital  that  had  breath  to  spare  cheered 
them  as  they  passed.  And  for  every  one  who 
saw  or  heard  the  going  of  the  Royal  Irish, 
that  day,  was  left  behind  a  memory  green 
enough  to  last  till  the  end  of  time. 


Chapter  VIII 

INTO   HER   OWN 

'TT'HE  last  big  drive  was  on.  Somewhere 
JL  on  the  road  between  what  had  been  the 
line  of  defense  and  what  was  the  line  of 
farthest  advance  rumbled  a  hospital  camion 
with  its  nose  to  the  war  trail  like  an  old  dog 
on  a  fresh  scent.  In  the  camion  sat  Sheila 
O'Leary,  late  of  the  old  San  and  later  yet  of 
the  American  Military  Hospital  No.  10.  She 
was  in  field  uniform;  a  pair  of  the  chief's  own 
boots  were  strapped  over  two  pairs  of  woolen 
stockings.  She  was  contemplating  those 
boots  now  with  a  smile  of  rare  contentment 
that  showed  its  inwardness  even  in  the  gray 
light  of  early  morning. 

"Never  thought  I  should  step  into  the 
shoes  of  a  great  surgeon.  They  ought  to  pass 
me  through  to  the  front  if  everything  else 
fails,  don't  you  think?" 

The  chief  eyed  her  quizzically.  "They'll 
carry  you  as  far  as  you'll  care  to  go  and  for 

269 


LEERIE 

as  long  as  you'll  stand.  What's  troubling  me 
is  what  your  man  will  say  when  he  knows?" 

"Who — Peter?"  Sheila's  smile  deepened. 
''He'll  understand;  he'll  be  glad.  Some 
thing  both  of  us  will  remember  always, 
something  big  to  share.  Oh,  I  know  it's 
going  to  be  life  and  death,  heaven  and  hell, 
rolled  into  a  minute,  but  I  wouldn't  be  miss 
ing  this  chance—  She  broke  off  suddenly, 
and  when  she  spoke  again  there  was  a  great 
reverence  in  her  voice.  "I  feel  as  the  littlest 
angel  might  have  felt  if  God  had  asked  him  to 
be  at  the  Creation." 

"Rather  different,  this."  Griggs,  the 
chief's  assistant,  spoke.  There  were  just 
the  three  of  them  in  the  ambulance. 

"Not  so  very.  It's  another  big  primal 
happening,  the  hurling  together  of  elemental 
things  and  impulses  and  watching  something 
more  solid  and  lasting  come  out.  A  new 
heaven  and  a  new  earth." 

"What  we  see  coming  out  won't  be  so  solid 
or  so  lasting.  We  may  not  be  ourselves." 
Griggs  was  a  pessimist,  a  heroic  one,  with 
an  eye  ever  keen  for  the  grimmest  and  most 
disappointing  in  life  and  a  courage  to  meet  it 
squarely. 

270 


INTO   HER   OWN 


The  chief's  glance  brushed  him  on  its  way 
to  the  nurse;  Griggs's  share  of  it  was  plainly 
commiserating.  "And  I  say,  blessed  be 
those  who  shall  inherit  it.  But,  girl,  this 
doesn't  settle  the  question  of  your  man. 
I've  had  to  duck  orders  a  bit  to  bring  you 
along.  Women  aren't  wanted  at  the  front. 
He  may  hold  it  up  stiff  against  me  for  it." 

"But  I  can  help.  Any  woman  who  can 
stand  it  will  be  needed.  They  shouldn't  bar 
us  out.  That's  all  Peter'll  think  about. 
Don't  worry." 

There  was  no  question  in  the  girl's  mind  as 
to  the  wisdom  or  right  in  her  coming — or 
Peter's  verdict  in  the 'matter.  He  would  not 
fuss  over  this  plunge  into  danger  any  more 
than  he  had  misunderstood  her  giving  away 
her  wedding  back  at  the  old  San  and  coming 
over  at  the  eleventh  hour.  The  last  words 
Peter  had  said  when  he  left  her  for  the  front 
came  back  with  absolute  distinctness : 

"Whatever  happens,  do  what  you  think 
best,  go  where  you  feel  you  must  go.  Don't 
bungle  your  instincts.  I'd  trust  them  next 
to  God's  own." 

No,  Peter  Brooks  would  have  been  the  last 
person  to  deny  her  this  chance,  and  so  all  was 

271 


LEERIE 

well.  She  was  wondering  now  if  by  some  rare 
good  luck  she  might  stumble  on  Peter  at  the 
front.  She  had  not  seen  him  since  they 
separated  the  day  after  their  arrival  in 
France.  A  few  penciled  hieroglyphics  had 
come  from  time  to  time  telling  her  all  was 
well  with  him.  She  had  written  when  she 
could  and  when  she  knew  enough  of  an  ad 
dress  to  risk  a  letter  reaching  him.  But 
Peter,  after  the  manner  of  all  correspondents, 
was  like  Hamlet's  ghost — here,  there,  and 
gone;  and  Sheila  had  no  way  of  knowing  if 
her  letters  had  ever  reached  him. 

For  weeks  it  had  seemed  to  the  girl  that 
her  love  had  lain  dormant,  hushed  under  the 
pressure  of  work.  So  vital  and  eternal  were 
both  love  and  happiness  that  in  her  zeal  for 
perfect,  impersonal  service  she  had  thrust 
them  both  out  of  sight,  as  one  might  put  seeds 
away  in  the  dark  to  wait  until  planting-time, 
assured  of  their  fulfilment  when  the  time 
came.  But  now  in  the  lull  between  the  work 
at  the  hospital  and  the  work  that  would  soon 
claim  her  again  she  discovered  that  in  some 
inexplicable  manner  love  would  no  longer  be 
shut  out.  She  was  sick  for  the  man  she 
loved. 

272 


INTO   HER   OWN 


A  funny  little  wistful  droop  took  Sheila's 
lips,  and  her  chin  quivered  for  an  instant. 
It  was  so  unlike  the  girl  that  the  chief,  see 
ing,  reached  across  and  laid  a  hand  on  her 
knee. 

"  What  is  it?     Not  sorry?" 

"Never.  But  I  was  thinking  how  pleas 
antly  easy  it  might  have  been  to  stay 
behind  at  the  old  San.  Peter  and  I'd  be 
climbing  that  mythical  hilltop  of  ours,  with 
a  home  of  our  own  at  the  end  of  the  climb — 
if  we'd  stayed  behind." 

"Well,  why  didn't  you?" 

The  nurse  laughed  softly.  Griggs  vol 
unteered  to  answer  for  her. 

"Because  you  were  a  fool,  like  a  lot  of  the 
rest  of  us." 

"Because — oh,  because  of  that  queer  some 
thing  inside  us  all  that  pries  us  away  from 
our  determinations  just  to  be  contented  and 
happy  all  our  lives  and  hustles  us  somewhere 
to  do  something  for  somebody  else.  Re 
member  in  the  old  fairy-tales  they  were 
always  cleaning  the  world  of  dragons  or 
giants  or  chimeras  before  they  married  and 
lived  happy  ever  after." 

"Bosh!     Remember  that  it's  only  in  the 

273 


LEERIE 

fairy-tales  that  the  giants  or  the  monsters 
don't  generally  get  you,  and  you  get  an 
epitaph  instead  of  a  wedding.  You  ro 
mantic  idealists  make  me  sick,"  and  Griggs 
snarled  openly. 

Their  mobile  unit  was  held  up  that  day  in 
a  little  ruined  city.  Only  one  other  dressing- 
station  was  there,  and  the  wounded  were 
passing  through  so  fast  and  so  wounded  that 
many  could  not  go  on.  So  they  set  up 
another  dressing-station  and  worked  through 
the  night  until  the  stars  went  out  and  their 
orders  came  to  hurry  on.  They  caught  two 
hours'  sleep  and  by  noon  of  another  day  they 
were  as  close  to  the  front  as  a  hospital  unit 
could  go. 

A  dugout  had  been  portioned  out  to  them, 
and  while  orderlies  brought  in  their  equip 
ment  and  the  surgeons  were  coupling  up 
lights  and  sterilizer,  Sheila  started  to  get  a 
hot  meal  in  two  sterilizing  basins.  The 
nurse  was  just  drawing  in  her  first  breath  of 
real  war.  Before  she  had  time  to  exhale  it  a 
despatch-bearer  climbed  down  into  the  dug 
out  and  handed  an  order  to  the  chief.  It 
was  from  headquarters,  and  brief.  The  di 
vision  did  not  intend  to  have  any  woman's 

274 


INTO   HER   OWN 


name  on  its  casualty  list.  Sheila  was  to  be 
returned  at  once.  The  bearer  added  the 
information  that  an  ambulance  was  returning 
with  wounded ;  she  could  take  it. 

The  chief  had  never  seen  the  nurse  turn 
so  white.  Her  eyes  spoke  the  appeal  her 
lips  refused  to  make.  He  tried  to  put  some 
thing  into  words  to  make  it  easier  for  her, 
but  gave  it  up  in  final  despair.  What  was 
there  to  say?  In  silence  the  girl  put  on  her 
trench  coat,  jammed  on  her  hat,  and  was 
gone.  For  the  first  kilometer  her  senses  were 
too  numbed  to  allow  for  much  thinking. 
Mechanically  she  passed  her  canteen  to  one 
of  the  wounded,  readjusted  a  blanket  over 
another.  It  was  not  until  the  division  turned 
loose  its  first  barrage  that  day  that  she  woke 
up  to  what  was  happening  to  her.  She  was 
going  back;  she  was  not  going  to  have  her 
chance. 

The  noise  was  terrific.  It  drowned  every 
thing  but  the  mutinous  hammerings  of  her 
own  heart.  In  the  flash  of  an  eye  she 
changed  from  the  Sheila  O'Leary  of  civilized 
production  to  a  savage,  primitive  woman. 
She  had  but  one  dominating  instinct,  to 
stand  by  the  male  of  her  tribe,  to  succor  him, 

275 


LEERIE 

fight  with  him,  die  with  him.  It  seemed  as 
futile  a  thing  to  try  to  stay  this  impulse  as  to 
try  to  put  out  the  burning  of  a  prairie  when 
the  wind  blows. 

The  ambulance  stopped  with  a  jerk. 
Something  was  wrong  with  the  engine.  The 
driver  climbed  down  and  threw  back  the 
hood,  and,  unnoticed,  the  nurse  slipped  down 
and  passed  him.  When  he  had  finished  his 
tinkering,  Sheila  was  fifty  rods  away  across 
the  meadow. 

"Here,  you,  you  come  back!"  shouted  the 
driver. 

For  answer  Sheila  doubled  her  speed. 

The  driver  watched  her,  uncertain  what  to 
do.  A  shell  whizzed  from  beyond  the  bar 
rage  and  burst  a  hundred  yards  from  the 
nurse.  The  shock  threw  her,  but  she  was  up 
in  an  instant,  her  course  changed  toward 
some  deserted  trenches.  The  driver  hesi 
tated  no  longer.  He  climbed  back  and 
started  the  engine. 

"No  use  tacklin'  them  kind,"  he  remarked 
to  the  empty  seat  beside  him.  "She'll  get 
there  or  she  won't — but  she  won't  turn  back." 

It  was  nightfall  when  Sheila  came  up  with 
what  she  had  chosen  to  call  "her  division." 

276 


INTO   HER   OWN 


She  intended  to  possess  it  in  spite  of  the 
commander.  An  outpost  sentry  challenged 
what  he  thought  a  wraith.  His  tongue  fum 
bled  the  words,  "Oh,  Gawd!  it's  a  woman!" 

"Yes.     Will  you  pass  her?     Lots  to  do." 

He  looked  at  the  red  cross  on  her  arm  and 
smiled  foolishly.  "You  bet  there  is!  Sure 
I'll  pass  you." 

She  came  up  with  the  first  battalion,  biv 
ouacked  under  a  shell-riven  ridge. 

"A  woman!"  The  first  boy  whispered  it, 
and  the  exclamation  rippled  on  to  the  next 
and  the  next  like  wind  in  dry  leaves.  Re 
membering  the  exodus  of  the  morning,  the 
nurse  knew  if  she  was  to  stay  she  must  prove 
her  need  and  prove  it  quickly.  Her  voice 
was  as  business-like  as  in  the  old  San  days. 

"Dressing- station?  Company's  surgeon? 
Wounded?  Doesn't  matter  which,  only  get 
me  some  work." 

A  hand  slipped  out  of  the  darkness  and 
caught  her  elbow.  "This  way,  lady,"  and 
she  was  drawn  along  the  protecting  shelter  of 
the  ridge.  After  rods  of  stumbling  she 
stumbled  down  irrational  stairs  into  the  same 
dugout  she  had  left  that  morning.  She  was 
almost  as  surprised  as  the  two  surgeons. 

277 


LEERIE 

"You're  a  fool,"  muttered  Griggs.  "Wait 
till  they  order  me  back.  I'll  not  be  crying 
for  purgatory  twice." 

The  chief  smiled.  "I  reckon  you  got  that 
SOS  call  I've  been  sending  out  all  day. 
We  need  help  like  sixty.  Bichloride's  under 
that  basin.  We'll  be  ready  for  you  when 
you've  washed  up.  Night  ahead—  His 
words  trailed  off  into  an  incoherent  chuck 
ling.  He  was  wondering  how  the  girl  had 
managed  it.  He  was  wondering  more  what 
the  command  would  do  when  it  found  out. 
In  the  mean  time  he  was  glorying  in  her  cour 
age;  he  would  see  she  got  full  measure  of  the 
work  that  had  claimed  her  in  spite  of  orders, 
while  he  silently  thanked  a  merciful  God  for 
providing  her. 

No  one  questioned  her  right  to  be  there 
that  night.  Wounded  poured  in,  flooded  the 
dugout  to  capacity,  were  cared  for,  carried 
away,  and  more  flooded  again.  It  was  day 
break  before  a  lull  came,  and  then  there  were 
orders  to  be  ready  to  follow  the  battalion  in 
an  hour.  So  they  ate  a  snatch,  packed,  and 
rolled  on  in  the  wake  of  the  Allies'  conquest. 

Again  it  was  nightfall  before  they  caught 
up  with  their  regiment.  Even  to  eyes  as  in- 

278 


INTO   HER   OWN 


experienced  as  theirs  it  was  easy  to  see  it  had 
been  factored  and  factored  again,  and  not  the 
half  of  it  was  standing.  They  found  a 
couple  of  regimental  surgeons  floundering 
through  a  sea  of  wounded.  The  nurse  had 
to  bite  her  lips  to  keep  back  the  cry  of  horror 
over  the  apparent  hopelessness  of  the  task 
that  lay  before  them.  So  many — and  so 
few  hands  to  do  it  all ! 

A  shout  went  up  from  the  men  who  had 
come  through  whole,  when  they  saw  her. 
They  were  wet,  covered  with  mud,  aching  in 
every  joint  and  sinew,  but  they  forgot  it  all 
in  their  joyful  pride  over  the  fact  that  the 
nurse  was  standing  by. 

"Gosh  durn  it,  it's  our  girl!" 

"Stuck  fast  to  the  old  bat.      Whoopee!" 

"At-a-boy!  Three  cheers  for  the  pluck 
iest  girl  on  the  front — our  girl!"  and  a  young 
giant  led  the  cheering  that  sprang  as  one 
yell  from  those  husky  throats. 

"She's  all  right — our  girl's  all  right — 
'rah-'rah-'rah!" 

Sheila's  own  voice  was  too  husky  to  more 
than  whisper,  as  she  slipped  behind  the  giant, 
"Tell  them  my  thanks  and — good  luck." 

"You  bet  I  will." 

19  279 


LEERIE 

From  that  instant  there  was  no  more  help 
lessness  in  the  feelings  of  Sheila  O'Leary. 
She  felt  empowered  to  move  mountains,  to 
make  new  a  mangled  heap  of  boys.  As  she 
joined  the  chief  she  stopped  to  see  how  it 
was  with  him.  His  eyes  met  hers,  and  in  the 
flash  she  read  there  the  same  fighting  faith 
that  was  in  her  own  heart.  He  patted  her 
shoulder. 

"Didn't  think  you'd  funk.  Nothing  like 
team-work  when  you're  up  against  it.  Keeps 
you  believing  in  the  divinity  of  man,  eh?" 

And  who  can  tell  if  at  times  like  these  the 
power  of  the  Nazarene  does  not  pass  on  to 
those  who  go  fearlessly  forth  to  minister  in 
the  face  of  death!  It  would  not  be  so 
strange  if  he  had  passed  over  innumerable 
battle-fields  and  so  anointed  those  who  had 
come  to  succor  that  their  task  was  made 
easier  and  their  burden  at  least  bearable. 

There  was  no  shelter  for  any  of  them  that 
night.  They  worked  in  the  open,  and  vol 
unteers  came  from  the  ranks  to  do  what  they 
could.  The  surgeons  would  have  scorned 
them,  but  the  nurse  mustered  in  a  score  or 
more  to  keep  the  fires  under  the  kettles  burn 
ing,  to  hold  supplies  and  lanterns,  to  make 

280 


INTO   HER   OWN 


coffee  when  the  sterilizing  basins  could  be  sur 
rendered  for  the  purpose;  and  she  showed 
those  with  pocket-knives  how  to  cut  away 
the  blood-soaked  clothing.  Caked  with  mud 
herself  and  desperately  hungry,  she  dressed 
and  comforted  as  she  went.  The  scene  was 
ghastly — Verestchagin  might  have  painted  it 
—but  Sheila  saw  none  of  it.  It  was  for  her 
a  time  exalted,  even  for  those  she  helped  to 
die.  There  was  no  sting  in  this  death.  As 
she  passed  on  and  on  in  the  darkness  the 
space  about  her  seemed  filled  with  the 
shadowy  forms  of  those  whom  God  was  mus 
tering  out,  peacefully,  gloriously  waiting 
His  command  to  march  into  a  land  of  full 
promise.  So  acutely  did  she  feel  this  that  a 
prayer  rose  to  her  lips  and  stayed  there, 
mute,  half  through  the  night,  that  some  time 
she  might  be  given  the  chance  to  make  this 
clear  for  those  who  mourned  at  home,  to 
make  them  feel  that  death,  here,  held  no  sting. 

In  the  midst  of  it  Sheila  felt  a  heavy  hand 
laid  on  her  arm,  and  turned  to  look  into  the 
face  of  the  commander. 

"Are  you  the  nurse  I  ordered  back  two 
days  ago?" 

"I  believe  so." 

281 


LEERIE 

"Who  ordered  you  back  again?" 

"No  one." 

"How  did  you  come?" 

The  girl  laughed  softly.  She  could  not  re 
sist  the  memory  of  that  flight.  "Engine 
went  wrong  and  I — beat  it.  Don't  blame 
the  driver;  he  did  his  best  to  obey  orders. 
I  joined  the  division  last  night  and  came  on 
with  my  chief." 

"So  there's  no  use  in  ordering  you  back?" 

"None  in  the  least — that  is,  not  so  long  as 
the  boys  are  coming  in  like  this." 

"How  long  can  you  stand  it?" 

"As  long  as  they  can,  sir."  And  then 
without  rhyme  or  reason  tears  sprang  into 
the  nurse's  eyes,  to  her  great  mortification 
and  terror.  That  would  probably  finish  her ; 
a  woman  who  cried  had  no  place  at  the  front, 
and  the  general  would  dismiss  her  promptly 
and  with  scorn. 

But  he  did  not.  The  hand  that  had 
touched  her  arm  reached  out  and  gripped  her 
hand.  She  caught  a  whimsical  smile  brush 
ing  his  lips  in  the  dark. 

"Good  night.  When  you  want  your  dis 
charge,  I'll  sign  it." 

He  went  as  swiftly  and  silently  as  he  had 

282 


INTO   HER   OWN 


come.  The  nurse  turned  back  to  her  work 
with  a  sigh  of  relief.  The  regiment  was  hers 
officially  now. 

The  next  day  they  made  another  little  town. 
So  quickly  and  unexpectedly  had  the  enemy 
been  forced  to  evacuate  it  that  there  had  been 
no  time  to  destroy  or  pillage,  and  the  shells 
had  somehow  passed  it  by.  The  town  was 
full  of  liberated  French — the  young  and  very 
old — who  crowded  the  streets  and  shouted 
their  welcome  as  the  troops  passed  through. 
The  chapel  was  flung  open  to  receive  the 
wounded,  and  the  hospital  unit  was  installed 
therein. 

As  Sheila  O'Leary  crossed  the  threshold  of 
the  little  church  a  strange  feeling  sprang  at 
her,  so  that  her  throat  went  dry  and  her  heart 
almost  stopped  beating.  It  was  as  if  some 
thing  apart  from  her  and  yet  not  apart  had 
spoken  and  said:  "Here  is  where  the  big 
moment  of  your  life  will  be  staged.  What 
ever  matters  for  all  time  will  happen  here, 
and  what  has  gone  before — the  San,  the 
hospital,  everything  you  have  felt,  striven 
for,  believed  in,  and  trusted — all  that  is  but 
a  prologue.  The  real  part  of  your  life  is  just 
beginning — or— 

283 


LEERIE 

Griggs  broke  the  terror  that  was  clutching 
at  her.  "What's  the  matter?  Don't  you 
know  there's  a  war  going  on  and  about  a  mil 
lion  wounded  coming  in?  There  are  a  few 
hundred  of  them  up  there,  lying  round  under 
the  images  of  the  saints.  The  saints  may 
bless  'em,  but  they  won't  dress  'em.  The 
chief's  growling  for  you.  Come  along!" 

For  once  she  was  grateful  to  the  pessimist. 
She  tried  to  brush  the  strangeness  away  as 
she  hurried  down  the  aisle,  but  it  clung  in 
spite  of  her.  And  at  the  altar  more  strange 
ness  confronted  her.  A  slightly  wounded 
lad  suddenly  reached  out  a  hand  holding  a 
crumpled  paper. 

"Guess  you're  Miss  O'Leary,  ain't  you? 
He  said  there  wasn't  much  of  a  chance,  but 
what  you  don't  expect  over  here  is  what  you 
get.  You  know?" 

The  incoherency  was  lost  on  Sheila.  She  took 
the  crumpled  paper  wonderingly  and  found  it 
covered  with  Peter's  scribbled  hieroglyphics: 

BELOVED: 

The  boys  have  been  telling  me  about  you — to  think 
you're  really  with  us  and  standing  by!  It  may 
bring  its  dole  of  horror — bound  to — we  all  have  our 
turn  at  it.  If  it  comes,  hold  to  your  courage  and 

284 


INTO   HER   OWN 


take  deep  hold  of  that  wonder-soul  of  yours;  that 
will  steady  you.  And  remember,  there  is  peace 
coming,  and  home — yours  and  mine.  Close  your 
eyes  when  the  sights  get  too  bad,  and  you'll  see  that 
blessed  house  of  ours  on  the  hilltop  you've  chosen; 
you'll  see  the  little  lamp  shining  us  good  cheer. 
Think  of  that.  I'm  with  the  other  wing  now,  but 
any  day  I  may  be  shifted  to  yours.  Until  then, 

Yours, 

"P.  B." 

The  nurse  thrust  the  paper  into  the  front  of 
her  uniform,  shook  the  hand  that  had  brought 
it  to  her,  and  passed  up  the  steps  to  the  work 
that  was  waiting  for  her.  The  first  day 
passed  like  a  dream.  Guns  boomed,  shells 
screeched  their  way  overhead  and  landed 
somewhere.  Wounded  came  and  went.  Many 
died,  and  a  white-haired,  tottering  old  sexton 
helped  to  carry  them  away.  The  old  palsied 
abhe  came  and  chanted  prayers  for  the  dy 
ing,  and  some  one  played  a  "Dies  Irse"  on 
the  little  organ.  Old  French  mothers  stole  in 
timorously  and  offered  their  services,  the 
service  of  their  hands  and  emptied  hearts. 
When  they  found  they  might  help  they  were 
pathetically  grateful,  fluttering  down  be 
tween  the  aisles  of  wounded  like  souls  with  a 
day's  reprieve  from  purgatory.  They  were 

285 


LEERIE 

finding  panacea  for  their  bereavement  in  this 
care  of  the  sons  of  other  mothers.  And  as 
they  passed  Sheila,  in  broken  centences,  al 
most  inarticulate,  they  told  their  sorrow: 

"Six — all  gone,  ma'm'selle." 

"Jean,  Francois,  Paul,  and  Victor — Victor 
the  last — he  fell  two  months  ago." 

"Four  sons  and  four  daughters — a  rich 
legacy  from  my  dead  husband,  ma'm'selle. 
And  I  have  paid  it  back — soul  by  soul — all — 
he  has  them  all  now." 

So  they  mourned  as  they  went  their  way 
of  tender  service,  the  words  dropping  uncon 
sciously  from  their  quivering  old  lips.  A  few 
there  were  who  stood  apart,  the  envied 
mothers  with  hope.  Sheila  learned  who  they 
were  almost  from  the  beginning.  Each  had 
a  son  somewhere  not  reported.  Old  Ma 
dame  d'Arcy  whispered  about  it  as  she  bathed 
the  face  of  the  boy  who  looked  so  much  like 
her  own. 

"Of  course,  ma'm'selle,  my  Lucien  may 
be —  I  have  not  heard  from  him  in  many 
months.  It  is  not  for  me  to  hope  too  much. 
But  I  think — yes,  I  think,  ma'm'selle,  he  will 
come  home  to  me  when  the  war  is  over." 

And  Madame  Simone,  who  brought  fresh 

286 


INTO   HER   OWN 


black  coffee  and  little  cakes  for  those  who 
could  eat  them,  trembled  with  the  gladness  of 
ministering  to  the  boys  who  were  fighting 
with  hers  for  France.  "I  had  almost  ceased 
to  pray  when  the  Americans  came,  but  now — 
ah,  ma'm'selle,  now  there  is  hope  again  in  this 
withered  breast.  I  even  dream  now  of 
mon  p'tit — the  youngest  of  them  all.  I  feel 
the  good  God  is  sparing  him  for  me.'* 

And  old  Isabelle,  who  came  to  scrub  the 
floor  and  clean,  muttered,  as  she  bent  her 
willing  back  to  the  labor:  "Moi,  that  is  what 
I  say,  too.  The  Lord  will  send  my  Jacques 
home  to  comfort  my  old  age." 

As  Sheila  listened,  it  epitomized  for  her  the 
tragedy  of  the  mothers  of  France,  this  an- 
tiphonal  chorus  of  the  mothers  who  had  lost 
all  and  those  who  had  yet  one  son  left.  To 
the  girl's  mind  there  came  in  almost  cruel 
contrast  that  chorus  of  Maeterlinck's  moth 
ers  raised  in  rapturous  expectancy  to  the 
unborn;  she  knew  she  was  hearing  now  the 
agonized  antithesis  of  it.  Throughout  the 
first  day  it  rang  incessantly,  until  she  could 
have  hummed  the  haunting  melody  of  it. 
Then  night  came.  The  patches  of  reds  and 
greens  and  blues  that  had  sifted  through  the 

287 


LEERIE 

stained  -  glass  window  in  the  chancel  and 
played  all  day  in  grotesque  patches  on  the 
white  cheeks  of  the  wounded  faded  alike  to 
gray,  and  the  nurse  lit  the  tall  wax  candles  on 
the  altar  that  the  work  might  go  on  without 
stopping. 

The  next  day — and  the  next — passed  much 
the  same.  There  was  no  end  to  the  wounded. 
Griggs  fainced  twice  the  second  day,  and  the 
chief  and  Sheila  carried  the  work  alone  for  a 
few  hours.  Each  of  them  was  acutely  con 
scious  of  the  strain  on  the  other  and  did  what 
he  and  she  could  to  ease  the  tension.  For  the 
girl  her  greatest  comfort  was  in  the  scrap  of 
paper  crumpled  over  her  breast.  It  told  her 
Peter  was  near,  coming  to  her  soon.  It 
seemed  to  transmit  some  of  his  strength  and 
optimism.  There  were  moments  when,  but 
for  his  reassurance,  the  girl  would  have 
doubted  every  normal,  happy  phase  of  life 
and  acknowledged  only  the  unending  torture 
and  renunciation.  Sometimes  the  horror 
seemed  to  wrap  them  in  like  an  impenetrable 
fog.  As  for  the  chief,  it  took  every  ounce  of 
will  and  sanity  to  keep  him  going,  and  he 
wondered  how  the  girl  beside  him  could  brave 
it  through  without  a  whimper. 

288 


INTO   HER   OWN 


Always  about  them  roared  the  great  guns 
like  the  last  booming  of  a  judgment  day,  and 
under  that  noise  the  moaning  chorus  of  the 
French  mothers.  When  the  strain  reached 
the  breaking -point  Sheila  closed  her  eyes 
and  looked  for  the  light  on  the  hilltop  that 
Peter  had  promised  would  be  there — and 
there  it  always  was.  Moreover,  she  could 
feel  Peter's  vital  presence  and  the  marvelous 
reality  of  his  love  reaching  nearer  and  nearer 
to  her  through  the  darkness.  So  she  kept 
her  head  clear  and  her  hands  steady  and 
forced  a  smile  whenever  the  chief  eyed  her 
anxiously.  She  never  failed  a  boy  "  going 
west."  To  the  last  breath  she  let  him  see 
the  radiating  faith  of  her  own  soul  that  be 
lieved  in  the  ultimate  Love  above  everything 
else.  Those  old  illuminating  smiles  that  had 
won  for  her  her  nickname  of  Leerie  never  had 
to  be  forced,  and  they  lighted  the  way  out 
for  many  a  groping  soul  in  that  little  church. 
And  the  old  Frenchwomen,  watching  above 
their  prayers  for  the  return  of  Louis  or 
Charles  or  Jacques,  said: 

"  See,  for  all  she's  so  young,  she  knows  what 
the  mother-heart  is.  That  is  why  she  feels  for 
us.  She  knows  how  our  hearts  have  bled." 

289 


LEERIE 

On  the  9th  of  November  they  were  still 
there.  The  division  had  continued  its  drive, 
but  slowly,  and  no  orders  had  come  for  the 
mobile  unit  to  go  forward.  And  then  came 
one  of  those  lulls  and  flush-backs  which  for 
the  moment  made  one  almost  believe  that 
the  tide  of  battle  had  turned  again — and  for 
the  enemy.  With  the  coming  of  the  first 
wounded  that  day  came  orders  to  evacuate 
the  town  at  once. 

At  first  the  townsfolk  would  not  believe, 
but  as  the  muddy  columns  of  the  first  com 
pany  could  be  seen  on  the  outskirts,  doubt 
gave  place  to'  certainty,  and  without  moan 
they  gathered  up  what  few  belongings  they 
could  and  set  their  faces  toward  what  they 
prayed  would  hold  French  soil.  Before  the 
refugees  had  cleared  the  town,  the  shelling 
began,  giving  the  last  impelling  haste  to  their 
exodus.  The  hospital  unit  stayed  in  the 
church.  They  got  the  wounded  ready  to  be 
moved  and  waited  for  further  orders.  They 
came  in  another  ten  minutes ;  everybody  was 
to  clear  out.  Three  ambulances  from  the 
east  and  a  half-dozen  from  the  west  gathered 
up  the  stretcher  cases,  while  the  others  piled 
into  the  supply-trucks — that  is,  all  but  the 

290 


INTO   HER   OWN 


chief  and  Sheila.  They  stood  in  the  church 
door  with  minds  for  anything  but  going.  It 
came  to  them  both  that,  as  the  battalions  fell 
back,  each  would  be  bringing  its  wounded  as 
far  as  it  could.  If  there  was  a  place  to  drop 
them — and  care  waiting  until  a  few  more 
ambulances  could  push  through — many  lives 
might  be  saved,  and  much  suffering. 

The  chief  looked  down  at  the  girl  and  saw 
what  was  in  her  mind.  Linking  his  arm  in 
hers,  he  muttered  under  his  breath,  "Still 
game,  bless  you!"  And  then  aloud:  "Miss 
O'Leary  and  I  have  a  liking  for  this  place. 
We'll  stay  until  the  next  orders." 

Griggs  had  climbed  to  the  footboard  of  an 
ambulance,  and  he  faced  them  with  con 
tempt.  "We  didn't  volunteer  to  sit  'round 
and  be  blown  to  bits.  Don't  be  fools,  you 
two.  Come  on  while  you've  got  a  chance." 
And  then,  when  he  saw  how  futile  were  his 
words :  "If  you  haven't  had  enough  slaughter 
for  one  while,  I  have.  Good-by." 

As  they  waved  them  off,  the  muddy  column 
of  the  first  company  swung  down  the  street. 
It  was  even  as  they  had  thought — wounded 
were  with  them,  and  the  nurse  and  surgeon 
hurried  inside  to  make  ready.  The  day 

291 


LEERIE 

wound  itself  out  in  an  almost  ludicrous  repe 
tition  of  events.  Straggling  companies  fell 
back,  dropped  their  wounded,  and  went  on; 
a  few  ambulances  made  the  town,  gathered 
up  the  worst  cases,  and  went  back.  Desul 
tory  shells  picked  off  their  belfry,  smashed  a 
group  of  monuments  in  the  cemetery,  and 
wiped  out  a  street  of  houses  not  far  away. 
And  every  half-hour  or  so  came  the  orders  to 
evacuate  at  once.  Regiment  after  regiment 
fell  back  through  the  city;  the  rest  of  the 
division  must  have  passed  to  north  and 
south  of  it.  By  nightfall  nearly  all  had 
passed  and  the  town  was  left  like  a  delta 
between  two  dividing  currents. 

"They'll  begin  shelling  in  earnest  by  mid 
night.  We'll  get  barrages  from  both  sides. 
We  won't  know  it,  but  this  town's  going  to 
be  wiped  off  the  map  to-night."  The  chief 
said  it  in  his  most  matter-of-fact  voice,  but 
his  face  showed  gray. 

The  girl  hushed  him.  "The  boys  might 
hear,  and  they've  been  through  so  much. 
There's  no  harm  in  letting  them  hope."  She 
turned  back  to  the  emergency  kettle  she  was 
stirring.  They  were  making  cocoa  and  feed 
ing  the  boys  out  of  the  chalice-cups  from  the 

292 


INTO   HER   OWN 


altar.  To  the  nurse  it  seemed  like  passing 
the  last  communion,  and  though  her  hands 
kept  steady,  her  heart  seemed  drained. 

Out  of  the  noise  and  the  gathering  gloom 
outside  came  two  more  stretcher-loads.  The 
bearers  whistled  when  they  saw  the  red  cross 
on  the  door.  They  whistled  harder  when 
they  pushed  it  open  and  looked  inside.  "  Gee ! 
we  thought  all  you  outfits  had  been  ordered 
back!"  The  bearers  laid  down  their  burden 
on  a  pew,  and  the  fore  one  groaned  out  the 
words. 

"We  were,"  the  chief  spoke.  " Sorry  we 
didn't  go?" 

"Dunno.  Bet  these  chaps  wouldn't  be, 
though — if  they  knew.  Don't  know  whether 
it's  any  use  trying;  they're  all  but  gone, 
Doc."  The  speaker  jerked  his  head  over  his 
shoulder  and  thumbed  a  command  to  the 
other  bearers.  "Here  you,  Jake!  You  and 
Fritzie  hustle  along  with  yours." 

As  the  surgeon  bent  over  to  examine,  the 
nurse  stopped  an  instant  to  listen,  then  went 
on  feeding  her  boys. 

"  This  one's  French."  The  chief  was  look 
ing  over  the  first  stretcher.  "How  did  you 
pick  him  up?" 

293 


LEERIE 

"Got  mixed  up  with  a  company  of  poilus 
in  the  last  scrap.  We  fought  all  together." 

"Hmmmm!  He'll  need  speed — or  he'll 
make  it.  Give  me  a  hand  with  him,  boys, 
over  to  the  table  there." 

"Wait,  Doc.  There's  another  just  as  bad. 
He's— the  other's  a  Yank." 

The  spokesman  again  jerked  his  comrades 
into  further  evidence.  One  of  the  bearers 
was  an  American,  the  other  a  captured  Ger 
man,  slightly  wounded.  Between  them  lay  a 
figure  in  the  gray  uniform  of  a  correspondent. 
A  heavy  growth  of  beard  made  the  man  al 
most  unrecognizable,  but  something  tugged 
at  the  chief's  memory  and  set  him  specu 
lating.  He  cast  a  furtive  glance  over  his 
shoulder  toward  the  nurse,  then  lowered  his 
voice. 

"You  haven't  any  idea  who  it  is,  have 
you?" 

"Sure.  He's  the  A.  P.  man  that's  been 
with  our  division  from  the  first.  His  name's 
Brooks." 

The  chalice  fell  through  Sheila's  fingers  and 
struck  the  altar  steps  with  a  sharp,  metallic 
ring.  The  next  instant  she  was  beside  the 
chief,  looking  down  with  wide,  unbelieving 

294 


INTO   HER   OWN 


eyes  at  the  stretcher  which  held  nothing 
familiar  but  the  gray  uniform — and  there 
were  many  men  wearing  the  same.  It  could 
not  be.  This  was  not  the  way  Peter  was 
coming  back  to  her.  In  all  the  days  of  hor 
ror,  of  caring  for  the  hundreds  of  wounded,  it 
had  never  entered  her  mind  that  war  might 
claim  the  man  she  loved.  Her  love,  and  the 
fulfilment  thereof,  had  stood  out  as  the  one 
absolute  reality  of  life,  the  thing  that  could 
not  fail.  This  simply  could  not  be;  Peter 
was  still  far  away,  but  coming,  supreme  in 
his  strength,  invulnerable  in  his  love  and 
promise  to  her. 

"You  — don't  know  him?"  The  chief 
asked  it  hopefully. 

The  girl  shook  her  head.  'He  can't  be — 
The  beard—  Wait."  Her  hand  slipped 
through  the  opening  in  his  uniform  to  an 
inside  pocket.  She  drew  out  a  flat  bundle  of 
papers,  and  the  first  glance  told  her  all  she 
needed  to  know.  There  was  Peter's  unmis 
takable  scribbling  on  the  uppermost,  and 
from  under  it  showed  the  corner  of  one  of  her 
letters  to  him. 

The  chief's  hand  steadied  her.  "No  time 
to  lose,  girl,  but  we'll  pull  him  through. 
20  295 


LEERIE 

We've  got  to  fight  for  it,  but  we'll  do  it. 
Easy  there,  boys.  Take  him  over  to  the 
table,  there,  under  the  light." 

But  Sheila  O'Leary  put  out  a  detaining 
hand.  Her  eyes  were  no  longer  on  Peter; 
she  was  looking  at  the  figure  on  the  other 
stretcher.  "What  did  you  say  about  that 
French  boy?" 

"He'll  have  to  go,  poor  chap!  There 
isn't  time  for  both.  Listen,  Leerie,"  as  a 
flash  of  pain  swept  the  girl's  face,  "it's  a  toss- 
up  between  them  who's  worse,  and  it's  down 
now  to  a  matter  of  minutes.  It  means  the 
best  team-work  we've  done  yet  to  save  just 
your  man." 

Still  the  girl  made  no  move.  Her  eyes 
were  turned  away.  In  her  ears  was  ringing 
the  chorus  of  the  mothers,  those  waiting  for 
Louis  or  Jacques  or  Lucien  to  come  home. 
Dear  God,  what  was  she  to  do? 

The  chief  pulled  her  sleeve.  "Wake  up, 
girl.  There's  a  chance  for  your  man,  I  tell 
you,  only  in  Heaven's  name  don't  waste  it ! 
Come." 

She  tried  to  take  her  eyes  away  from  the 
boy,  tried  to  shut  her  ears  to  the  cry  that  was 
ringing  in  them.  She  wanted  to  look  at 

296 


INTO   HER   OWN 


Peter  and  say  the  word  that  would  start  the 
bearers  carrying  him  to  that  little  zone  of 
light  about  the  altar  where  they  had  saved 
so  many  during  those  days.  But  her  eyes 
clung,  in  spite  of  her,  to  the  white  boy-face 
and  the  faded  blue  uniform  below  it.  Peter 
had  no  mother,  no  one  but  herself  to  face  the 
grief  and  mourn  the  loss  of  him,  and  the 
hearts  of  French  mothers  had  been  drained — 
bled  almost  to  the  last  drop?  Wouldn't 
Peter  say  to  save  that  drop?  Had  she  the 
right  to  shed  it  and  spare  her  own  heart's 
bleeding?  The  questions  filtered  through 
her  mind  with  the  inevitableness  of  sands  in 
an  hour-glass.  With  a  cry  of  agony  she 
wrenched  her  eyes  away  at  last  and  faced 
the  chief. 

"We'll  let  Peter— wait.  We'll  take  the 
boy— first." 

Dumfounded,  the  chief  stared  for  the 
fraction  of  a  moment;  then  he  shook  her. 
"For  God's  sake,  wake  up,  Leerie!  You've 
gone  through  so  much,  your  thinking  isn't 
just  clear.  Get  rational,  girl.  You'd  be 
deliberately  killing  your  man,  to  leave  him 
now.  You  don't  realize  his  condition,  or  you 
wouldn't  be  wasting  time  this  way.  By  the 

297 


LEERIE 

time  we  finish  with  the  first  there'll  be  no 
chance  for  the  second ;  they're  both  bleeding 
in  a  dozen  places.  Here,  boys!  Help  me 
over  with  Mr.  Brooks." 

But  Sheila  put  out  a  quick  hand  and  held 
them  back.  "And  if  I  put  Peter  first  I  shall 
be  deliberately  killing  the  other.  Don't  you 
see?  I  can't  do  it — Peter  wouldn't  wish  it — 
it  would  mean —  Boys,  carry  over  the 
other.  The  chief's  going  to  save  a  lad  for 
France." 

There  was  no  denying  her.  She  stood 
guard  over  Peter's  stretcher  until  the  other 
had  been  lifted  and  carried  away.  Grimly 
the  surgeon  followed,  and  Sheila  turned  to  the 
two  who  were  still  holding  the  stretcher. 

"  Would  you  mind  putting  him  down  there? 
Now,  will  you  leave  us  just  a  minute?" 
She  spoke  to  the  American,  but  the  German 
must  have  understood,  for  he  led  the  way  to 
the  church  door  and  stood  with  his  back  to  her. 

Even  the  comfort  of  staying  with  Peter  to 
the  last  was  denied  her.  The  chief  had  said 
it  must  be  team-work,  the  best.  She  mustn't 
waste  many  seconds.  She  thought  of  the 
many  she  had  helped  to  die,  the  courage  a 
warm  grip  of  the  hand  had  given,  the  healing 

298 


INTO   HER   OWN 


strength  in  a  smile,  and  her  heart  cringed 
before  this  last  sacrifice  of  giving  Peter  over 
to  a  desolate,  prayerless  death.  Hardly 
breathing,  she  slipped  down  and  laid  her 
cheek  to  his  bearded  one.  She  could  offer 
one  prayer,  that  he  need  never  wake  to  know. 
Kneeling  there,  his  last  words  came  back  to 
her  almost  in  mockery: 

"Don't  bungle  your  instincts.  I'd  trust 
them  next  to  God's  own." 

Dear  God,  if  she  only  could  bungle  them! 
If  only  they  had  not  wrenched  from  her  this 
torturing,  ghastly  choice!  She  knew  the 
meaning  now  of  the  strangeness  that  had 
met  her  as  she  first  crossed  the  threshold  of 
the  little  church.  She  knew  why  the  chorus 
of  mothers  had  been  sung  so  deep  into  her 
heart.  The  greatest  moment  of  her  life  had 
come — a  terrible,  soul-rending  moment.  And 
beyond  it  lay  nothing.  She  choked  out  an 
incoherent,  futile  prayer  into  the  dulled  ears 
— and  left  him.  This — this  was  her  farewell 
to  Peter  Brooks — her  man — her  man  for  all 
time. 

The  American  orderly  had  disappeared. 
Sheila  stumbled  over  to  the  door  and  gripped 
the  sleeve  of  the  German. 

299 


LEERIE 

"If  he  opens  his  eyes" —  she  opened  and 
shut  her  own  eyes  in  pantomime — "come  for 
me,  quick.  Verstehen?" 

The  German  nodded. 

For  the  next  half-hour,  with  nerves  keyed 
to  their  utmost  and  hands  working  with  the 
greatest  speed  and  skill  they  were  capable  of, 
Sheila  O'Leary's  soul  went  down  into  purga 
tory  and  stayed  there.  Not  once  did  she 
look  beyond  the  boy  she  was  helping  to  save; 
not  once  did  she  let  herself  think  what  might 
be  happening  beyond  the  circle  of  light  that 
hemmed  them  in.  With  all  the  woman  cour 
age  she  could  muster,  she  was  stifling  every 
breath  of  love  or  longing — or  self-pity.  If 
she  could  have  killed  her  body  and  known 
that  when  that  night's  work  was  done  she 
would  be  laid  in  the  cemetery  outside  with 
Peter,  she  would  have  been  almost  satisfied. 

Suddenly  she  realized  they  had  finished. 
The  chief  was  repeating  something  over  and 
over  again. 

"  The  boy  is  safe.     You'd  better  lie  down.'* 

The  bearers  were  moving  the  boy  back  to 
the  pews  and  the  chief  was  leading  her  down 
the  steps  of  the  chancel.  But  it  was  Sheila 
who  guided  their  steps  at  the  bottom.  She 

300 


INTO   HER   OWN 


led  the  way  toward  the  German  and  the 
thing  he  had  been  asked  to  watch.  Terror 
shook  her.  It  seemed  as  if  she  could  never 
look  at  what  she  knew  would  be  waiting  for 
her,  and  yet  no  power  on  earth  could  have 
held  her  back. 

As  she  reached  the  prisoner  she  saw  in 
bewilderment  a  strange  scattering  of  things 
on  the  floor  about  him — forceps,  some  knives, 
a  roll  of  gauze,  and  a  syringe.  There  was  an 
odor  of  a  strange  antiseptic  which  made  her 
faint.  She  tottered  and  would  have  fallen 
had  the  German  not  helped  the  chief  to 
steady  her. 

"He  has  not  gained  consciousness,  madam. 
He  has  lost  too  much  blood  for  that."  The 
German  spoke  in  English.  He  also  spread 
his  hands  in  mute  apology  for  what  he  had 
done.  "I  have  stanched  his  wounds  with 
what  poor  supplies  I  had  with  me.  It  has 
merely  kept  him  alive.  He  will  require  more 
care,  better  dressing." 

No  one  answered.  Words  seemed  the  most 
impossible  and  absurd  means  of  expression 
just  then. 

The  German  smiled  at  the  look  Sheila  gave 
him,  and  the  smile  was  arrogant.  "You 


LEERIE 

Americans  have  always  made  such  a  fuss 
over  what  you  have  been  pleased  to  call  our 
brutalities.  What  is  war  if  it  isn't  a  con 
sistent  effort  to  exterminate  the  enemy? 
The  women  are  the  wives  of  the  enemy  and 
the  breeders  of  more ;  the  wounded  are  still 
the  enemy — if  they  recover,  they  fight  again. 
But  a  German  knows  how  to  honor  a  brave 
act.  And  when  you  go  back,  madam,  you 
can  tell  how  Carl  Tiefmann,  a  German  sur 
geon,  wounded  and  taken  prisoner,  so  far 
forgot  his  Prussian  creed  as  to  spare  an 
enemy  for  a  brave  woman." 

He  bowed  and  went  back  to  the  church 
doors.  Sheila  watched  him  go  through  a 
trailing  of  mist;  then  she  dropped  through 
the  chief's  arms,  unconscious,  on  the  floor 
beside  Peter's  stretcher. 

The  Germans  never  reached  the  little 
town,  and  by  some  merciful  stroke  of  luck 
neither  did  any  more  of  the  shells.  So  it 
came  to  pass  that  on  the  llth  of  Novem 
ber  a  very  white  nurse,  holding  fast  to  the 
hand  of  a  man  unconscious  on  a  stretcher, 
followed  Peace  across  the  threshold  of  the 
American  Military  Hospital  No.  10.  It  was 
days  before  Sheila  spoke  above  a  husky 

302 


"  He  will  require  more  care,  better  dressing  " 


INTO   HER   OWN 


whisper  or  smiled,  for  it  was  days  before 
Peter  was  out  of  danger,  but  there  came  a 
morning  at  last  when  a  shaven  and  shorn 
Peter,  looking  oddly  familiar,  opened  clear, 
sane  eyes  and  saw  the  woman  he  loved 
bending  close  above  him. 

He  gave  the  same  old  cry  that  he  had  given 
ages  before  when  he  had  come  out  of  another 
nightmare  of  unconsciousness  and  fear,  "It's 
Leerie — why,  it's  Leerie!" 

And  Sheila  smiled  down  at  him  again  with 
the  old  luminous  smile. 

When  he  was  sufficiently  mended  to  look 
about  him  and  take  reckoning  of  what  had 
happened,  he  asked  first  for  the  ring  that  he 
had  bought  for  that  long-before  wedding  and 
that  he  had  carried  ever  since  with  him.  And 
he  asked,  second,  for  the  chaplain. 

Sheila  drew  the  gold  chain  from  about  her 
neck  and  dangled  the  ring  in  front  of  his 
nose.  "I  took  it  when  we  cut  off  your  coat 
that  night,  and  Fve  kept  it  handy  ever  since. 
The  chaplain's  handy,  too.  He's  promised — • 
any  hour  of  the  day  or  night.  Shall  we  send 
for  him — now?" 

Peter  nodded. 

The  nurse  turned  to  go,  hesitated,  and  then 

303 


LEERIE 

came  back  to  the  cot.  Peter  thought  he  had 
never  seen  her  eyes  so  full  of  wonder. 

"Man  o',mine,  maybe  you  won't  want  me 
when  you  know  I  almost  let  you  go,  that  I 
intended  to  let  you  die  to  save  first  a  French 
lad  that  came  in  with  you." 

Peter  grinned.  "Same  old  Leerie!  Well, 
we're  quits,  sweetheart,  and  I'm  glad  to  have 
it  off  my  conscience.  Sort  of  did  the  same 
thing  myself.  Rushed  off  in  the  shelling  to 
bring  in  that  same  poor  chap — he'd  got  a 
bullet  in  his  leg — and  all  the  time  I  knew  I 
ought  to  be  thinking  of  you  first  and  hanging 
on  to  safety.  Funny,  isn't  it,  how  some 
thing  queer  gets  you  in  the  midst  of  it  all  and 
you  do  the  last  thing  in  the  world  you  want 
to  do?  A  year  or  two  and  the  whole  thing 
will  be  unexplainable." 

Sheila  bent  over  and  laid  her  lips  to 
Peter's.  She  knew  that  in  a  year — in  a  cen 
tury — they  would  still  understand  why  they 
had  done  these  things,  and  she  was  glad  they 
had  both  paid  their  utmost  for  the  love  and 
happiness  that  she  knew  was  theirs  now  for 
all  time. 

Peter  broke  on  her  reverie  with  a  chuckle. 
"Remember  old  Hennessy  saying  once  that 

304 


INTO   HER   OWN 


he  believed  you  would  give  me  away  with 
everything  else — if  you  thought  anybody  else 
needed  me  more?  He'd  certainly  wash  his 
hands  of  the  pair  of  us." 

"Hennessy's  an  old  dear.  I'll  get  the 
chaplain,  and  afterward  let's  send  Hennessy 
the  first — and  the  best — cable  he's  ever  had. 
Sort  of  owe  it  to  him,  don't  we?" 

Without  any  of  the  original  splendor  of 
decorations,  collation,  and  attire,  with  no  one 
but  the  chaplain  to  marry  them  and  the 
chief  to  bless  them,  Sheila  O'Leary  came 
into  her  own  at  last.  As  for  Peter — he 
looked  as  Hennessy  described  him  on  the 
day  the  Brookses  came  home — "wi'  one  eye 
on  the  thruest  lass  God  ever  made  an'  the 
other  on  Paradise." 


AFTERWORD 

I  THOUGHT  I  had  to  have  a  better  ending 
to  the  story  than  the  scraps  of  things  I 
had  made  over  from  Leerie's  letters  and  what 
Peter  had  told  me.  So  I  went  to  Hennessy. 

It  was  midwinter.  I  found  him  cracking 
the  ice  on  the  pond  to  let  the  swans  in  for  a 
cold  bath. 

"'Tis  not  docthor's  ordthers,"  he  grinned 
by  way  of  explanation;  "but  they  get  so 
blitherin'  uneasy  there's  no  housin'  them. 
That's  the  why  I  give  them  a  bit  of  a  cold 
nip  onct  the  while  —  sure  'tis  good  threat  - 
ment  for  us  all — an'  then  they  settle  down." 

I  huddled  deeper  into  a  fur  coat  and  tried 
to  agree  with  Hennessy. 

"Did  ye  see  Leerie,  then,  since  she  came 
home?" 

"Have  you?" 

He  shirred  his  lips  into  an  ecstatic  pucker 
and  whistled  triumphantly.  "Wasn't  I  al 
ways  sayin'  she'd  marry  the  finest  gentleman 
in  the  land,  same  as  the  King  o'  Ireland's 

306 


AFTERWORD 

only  daughter,  and  go  dandtherin'  off  to  a 
fine  home  of  her  own?" 

"And  she  has." 

"She  has  that." 

"And  so  the  story's  told,  Hennessy." 

"Told  nothin'.  Sure,  it  isn't  half  told— 
it  isn't  more  than  half  begun,  just." 

"But  you  can't  end  a  book  that  way. 
You  have  to  end  with  an  ending." 

"'Tis  the  best  way  to  end  a  book,  then. 
Haven't  ye  taken  the  lass  over  the  worst  o' 
the  road  an'  aren't  ye  leavin'  her  with  the 
best  ahead?" 

"But  what  is  there  left — to  find  along  the 
way?  She's  found  her  work — that's  over 
with.  She's  found  her  man — that's  over 
with.  She's  found  love — that's  over— 

Hennessy  interrupted  me  almost  viciously. 
I  think  he  wanted  to  prod  me  instead  of  the 
ice.  "What  kind  of  talkin'  is  that  for  a  per 
son  who  thries  to  write  books  about  real  folk? 
Ye  harken  to  me.  Do  ye  think  because  love 
is  found  'tis  over  with?  Sure,  Leerie's  only 
caught  a  whiff  of  it  yet — 'tis  naught  but 
budded  for  her.  By  an'  by  there  come  the 
blossom  of  it  an'  the  fruit  of  it.  An'  when 
death  maybe  withers  it  for  a  spell — 'twill  be 

307 


LEERIE 

but  a  winther-time  promise  to  bud  an' 
blossom  again  in  the  Counthry  Beyond. 
There's  no  witherin'  to  love  like  hers.  An' 
do  ye  think  because  she  has  her  man  found 
there's  no  pretty  fancy  or  adventure  still 
waitin'  them  along  the  way?  An'  do  ye 
think  Leerie's  work  will  ever  be  done?  Tell 
me  that!" 

The  shirr  tightened  into  something  like 
contempt.  Hennessy  looked  down  upon  me 
with  undisguised  pity. 

"  Did  ye  ever  know  Leerie  at  all,  at  all,  I'm 
wondtherin' — to  be  savin'  things  like  that? 
Don't  ye  know  for  the  likes  o'  her  there'll  be 
childher — Saint  Anthony  send  them  a  nest- 
ful!"  He  crossed  himself  to  further  the 
wish.  "An'  over  an'  above  the  time  it 
takes  tendin'  an'  lovin'  them  an'  rearm' 
them  into  the  finest  parcel  o'  youngsters  God 
ever  made — wi'  the  help  o'  their  parents— 
there'll  be  time  left  to  light  the  way  for  every 
poor,  sorry  soul  within  a  hundred  miles  o'  her. 
Ye  can  take  my  word  for  it ;  an'  if  she  never 
did  another  stroke  o'  work  so  long  as  she 
lived — bein'  Leerie,  just,  would  be  enough." 

"You  may  be  right,  Hennessy,  but  it's 
still  no  way  to  end  a  book." 

308 


AFTERWORD 


He  came  a  step  nearer  and  shook  a  warning 
finger  at  me.  "Will  ye  listen?  Faith,  I'm 
wondtherin'  sometimes  that  folk  read  your 
books  when  ye  have  so  little  sense  wi'  the 
endin'  o'  them.  Don't  ye  know  that  a  book 
that  ends  wi'  the  end  is  a  dead  book  en 
tirely?  An'  who  cares  to  be  readin'  a  dead 
book?  Tell  me  that." 

His  contempt  changed  to  commiseration. 
I  might  have  been  Brian  Boru,  the  gray  swan, 
the  way  he  looked  at  me. 

"The  right  way  of  endin'  is  with  a  begin  - 
nin' — the  beginnin'  o'  something  bigger  an' 
betther  an'  sweeter.  'Tis  like  ye  were 
takin'  a  friend  with  ye  up  a  high  hill— 
showin'  him  all  the  pretty  things  along  the 
way.  Then  just  afore  ye  get  to  the  top— 
an'  afore  ye  can  look  over  an'  see  what's 
waitin'  beyond — ye  leave  him,  sayin'/Go  ye 
alone  an'  find  whatever  ye  are  most  wishin' 
for.'" 

He  stopped,  pushed  his  hat  back  and 
pulled  his  forelock  as  if  for  more  inspiration. 
"Do  ye  see?  Just  be  leavin'  it  to  folk  the 
world  over.  They  can  read  in  a  betther 
endin'  than  ye  can  be  writin'  in  in  a  hun- 
dthred  years.  An'  let  Leerie  be  as  I'm 

309 


LEERIE 

tellin'  ye  —  wi'  the  road  windin'  over  the 
hill  an'  out  o'  sight.  Sure  the  two  of  us 
know  what  she'll  be  findin'  there;  an'  do  ye 
think  the  readers  have  less  sense  than  what 
we  have?" 


THE   END 


